An Angel's Inferno
by Lothiel
Summary: Following the events of the Masquerade, Christine is afraid of her teacher's wrath upon learning of her relationship with Raoul. But will fear turn to love?
1. It Frightens Me

**Chapter 1**

**It Frightens Me**

* * *

I stood at the bottom of the staircase, gazing up at the sight that I could not tear my eyes away from. Red Death descended slowly, methodically, and powerfully. I quaked in fear, though no one saw me, for all eyes were upon that terrifying sight before me. My teacher's eyes were angry. The green orbs were hidden in the shadow of his horrible death mask and smoldered with an emotion I had seen only once before, in the moment I tore the mask from his face. He thrust the copy of his infamous opera in the direction of the managers. I stood as still as a statue. _He knows,_ I thought in horror, repeating it over and over. His gaze finally drifted back to mine and I could not look away. Once his eyes locked onto mine, I was his again and there was nothing I could do.

In that moment when I realized there was nothing I could do, he began to descend the stairs toward my trembling form. I knew my punishment awaited me, for I had betrayed my angel and my teacher. I was so frightened. All in one day I had been reunited with my childhood friend, now a handsome young man, and I had met my angel in the flesh, a sight which I had never expected. At times, there was such sadness in his eyes and so much love that it scared me. I had torn the mask from his face out of my foolish curiosity. I had run from a man who loved me and found solace in the safe arms of my childhood friend, hoping to hide from the awakened emotions in my heart. Now, there was reconciliation in his words. Perhaps my teacher was willing to take me under his wing once again. My eyes filled with hope as he neared me. Perhaps all was not lost.

The Phantom's gaze swept down from my face and lay on the forgotten trinket that lay on a chain around my neck. Fear suddenly coursed through my body as I realized that he seen the symbol of Raoul's pledge. Anger replaced any tenderness that was in his eyes only a moment ago. He snatched the ring away, tearing the chain from my neck. I gasped, but not from the pain, instead from the wretchedness I now felt.

"Your chains belong to me!" he roared.

I trembled before him, my lips unable to form any words of apology or a plea of mercy. In an instant, he was gone. All that remained was a dissipating cloud of smoke that cloaked his departure. Raoul had run after him, wherever he had disappeared to, and I was left alone. Terrified, I ran blindly from the grand foyer and stumbled down the nearest corridor until I reached the deserted wing where my dressing room lay. Weaving my way to and fro in the darkened hallways, I finally found my dressing room and grasped the door handle with a shaking, pale hand. My hand suddenly stopped its frantic movement. I could not go in there. I could not bear to see the mirror looming before me like judgment day, the book of my life laying bare all of my sins. A sob fled my mouth and I clamped my hand over it as my body slumped against the wall. It was cold and dark in the hall, but the hiding place was a sort of comfort to me. I could hear the frantic beating of my heart now.

Finally, I decided to flee to the only room which seemed safe at the moment. As I raised my hand to that door, I was not sure if she would even be present to admit me. After a moment, the door creaked open and Madame Giry peered out first in suspicion and then in concern.

"Christine," she called out, clutching my arm as she drew me inside and shut her door.

"I do not know what to do," I cried out. "He is so angry."

"Come, child," she called, "let us remove this cumbersome costume."

I allowed her to lead me further into the room and nimbly remove the elaborate pink gown. She glanced up at me periodically, her wary eyes studying the stricken expression on my face. When I finally stood in only my thin chemise, shivering uncontrollably in the chill air, Madame Giry swept a warm nightgown over my body.

"You may stay here tonight, if you wish," she told me, her normally strict tone reduced to a gentle murmur.

I nodded absentmindedly and felt myself being led to a waiting bed. Once beneath the heavy blankets, it did not take long before my tired mind began to shut down, and my eyes fell closed. I awoke only once during the night to the sound of Madame Giry's voice, in the adjoining sitting room, speaking in a low murmur. So fatigued was I, that I did not consider who she was talking to. The bed was too warm and the blankets too soft and I could not resist the pull of sleep.

The next morning brought with it muted winter sunlight that streamed through the small windows of the bedroom and fell across the embroidered bedspread that covered my sleeping form. I glanced around the small bedroom with no sight of Madame Giry anywhere. Carefully, I rose from bed and slipped from the room into the sitting room beyond. The chairs situated around the small fireplace were unoccupied. It appeared as though she were gone. I took the opportunity to warm myself beside the small fire. My hands shook as I held them out and I wondered to myself if it was merely due to the chill in the room. My discarded dress was hung on one side of the room. A shudder ran through me as I recounted the night before. I did not want to be reminded of all that had transpired. I suddenly longed for a benevolent comfort – one in which I felt safe and protected. I could not bear to see Raoul this morning. My mind was still awash of the events from last night. I could not think clearly and I could not decide what I had to do.

I had to see my father.

I slipped on a robe from Madame Giry's wardrobe and weaved my way through the girls' dormitories before finding the small room that I shared with Meg. Inside, I quickly chose a simple dark gown from my measly wardrobe and dressed swiftly. I tied my hair back and attached a bonnet, before shrugging a winter cloak over my shoulders, fastened it at the neck and finished with a warm pair of gloves. A brief pause in front of the tiny mirror above the wash basin revealed a face filled with worry and despair. Dark shadows lay below my eyes, and did nothing but perpetuate the horrid feeling that refused to leave my mind.

I hurried from my room and found the opera house's stables in a matter of minutes. There was a carriage already horsed and ready. I begged the driver to take me to the cemetery and he silently complied with a nod of his hooded head. The air was undoubtedly cold and the threat of snow hung in the air like a death shroud. I slipped into the carriage bundled my cloak around myself carefully to keep out the cold. A chill still seemed to permeate my body that even the heavy cloak and gown could not keep out. After nearly an hour, I arrived at the gates of the cemetery that I had not visited in several months. I wearily slipped from the carriage and moved towards the gates, pushing them open with my gloved hands. They squeaked strangely in the stillness of the morning air, the only sound beside my feet crunching on the blanket of snow.

I entered the strange graveyard, in awe again of the large monuments to the dead that trailed off into the distance as far as the eye could see. My feet found their familiar path and led me to the inevitable destination tucked away deep within the cemetery. The crypt, erected by wealthy admirers of my father's music, loomed before me. I stood there for several minutes, as still as one of the stone angels within the grounds. My breath rose up in the cold air, shallow and uneven.

"Father," I whispered in the silence, "I am so confused. I do not know what course you intended for me. I cannot see its destination and it frightens me. I am so frightened, father," I wept.

I looked up at the tomb again. "I wish you were here again, that I could hear your voice again. I wish you could guide me and comfort me. I feel so. . .alone. You told me once of an angel and I truly believed you. The angel of music came to me and taught me. He watched over me and protected me. But now, I realize that everything I believed in was an illusion. There was no angel. I was a foolish girl. Once again, I am alone and there is no one to watch over me. I wish you were here with me and that I could feel your arms around me again. Oh papa, I felt so safe in your arms! And now. . .now, I am so afraid. My life is not my own anymore. _He_ said. . ." my voice faltered as bitter tears fell from my eyes, "he said that I belong to _him_ now. There is no escape. I don't know what to do, papa. _He_ is everywhere – in my voice, in my mind, and in every place. I fear that I will never see the sunlight again – that I will be locked away forever and everyone who cares for me will be shut away. Father, I am so afraid! I do not want to be taken away."

I glanced around warily, even though the graveyard appeared to be deserted and added in a hushed whisper. "I would rather die here in your presence. You would take care of me. You would guide me up to heaven."

My knees shook and I found myself falling to the ground. I could feel the cold in the air more intensely now. My limbs were wracked with icy chills and my body shivered uncontrollably. Perhaps my father had heard my wish. Perhaps he was coming to me right now. A small smile lifted my pale, shaking lips. "I am not afraid with you here, papa," I whimpered as my head slumped against the ground. "But I am so cold. Will I ever be warm again?"

I was delirious. I thought I saw an angel slip from the gravestones and glide towards me. Then I realized that it was no angel. The figure was cloaked in black and very real. I could not summon the strength to lift even one limb from the frozen ground. My body was beginning to shut down and I was welcoming it. I heard the most heavenly sound in the world and called out for my father, but he did not answer. The figure loomed above me, dropping down and gathering me up in its arms.

"Christine," I heard _his_ voice cry out. A cold, gloved hand touched my frozen face and I winced from the sensation. Even the smallest touch was painful.

"No," I whimpered, "my father is coming for me. Let me go."

I felt my body being lifted from the ground and I tried to protest, but the most I could do was cry. How pitiful I must have looked at that moment, but I didn't care. I was so close to seeing my father again and so afraid of being torn away from everything I knew.

"Let me go," I cried out again. I struggled and tried to beat at his chest with my fists, my broken sobs echoing throughout the cemetery. "Please! I don't want to be shut away. Please don't shut me away. I cannot bear the darkness!"

He froze in his tracks, looking down at me for a moment in silence. The angry gleam in his eyes that I had seen only the night before was gone. There was an unbearable grief mirrored in his eyes – the very grief that must have been etched upon my features. "Let me die," I cried. "Father said I was supposed to be with the angel."

I did not remember anything after that. The world faded and I thought that death had finally come to claim me, and bring me to a home that I had waited a long time for.

"Christine," a gentle, female voice called out beyond the darkness.

I resisted the call, but it repeatedly prompted me to respond. I surfaced from the abyss and found myself back in a warm bed. I was covered in thick quilts and someone was attending me. My limbs ached horribly, and my body was stilled wracked with shivers. I was barely able to grip the edge of the blankets with my hands.

"Where am I?" I murmured.

Madame Giry bent over my prone form with a worried expression on her elegant features. I could hear shuffling behind her and realized that an older man was rummaging through a black bag nearby.

"Keep her warm," I heard him say. "The cold did her no good. I will leave some laudanum with you, but you must keep a careful eye on her. If her condition worsens, fetch me immediately."

"Thank you, doctor," Madame Giry murmured.

My mind was swimming with the effects of the fever. I was not even aware when the doctor had left. I do remember being carefully pulled into a sitting position, and a warm broth fed to me. A hand gentle stroked my forehead and lingered on my cheeks.

"It is a good thing you brought her here. I cannot imagine what would have happened had you not found her," I heard her say, a slight edge in her voice.

Only silence responded.

"Do you know how frightened she was after that night? What on earth have you done?" she continued.

"I could not let her go," a very familiar and masculine voice responded. "That boy was going to take her away. I could not allow that."

"She is not yours to keep. You cannot cage her like you would a bird. She would die."

My mind began to drift away again and I remembered no more of the conversation. Fevered dreams were filled with the night of the party. No matter how I tried to resist, I could not avoid _him_ as he descended the stairs, over and over again. My feet were rooted to the floor and there was no chance of running away. Each time he tore the chain from my neck, I could feel the bite of the metal in my skin, and a scream would issue from my mouth. There were scattered memories of waking from my nightmares to Madame Giry's gentle ministrations and soothing voice. I would weep bitterly though I was hardly aware of it.

Two days later, the fever was breaking. My body was on fire and I writhed around in the sweat-soaked sheets of my bed. My leg curled around the sheets, exposed to the cooler air of the room. I thrust the sheets from my body and nearly tumbled out of bed, but quickly regained my balance as I placed both feet firmly on the floor. It took several moments to gather the strength to lift my body from the bed and walk shakily across the floor to the door. I was in Madame Giry's room, I realized. My pale fingers curled around the open door and pulled it open fully to reveal an empty sitting room. Madame Giry must have stepped out. I walked slowly and clumsily towards the nearest chair, feeling the relief of cool air rushing through my damp nightgown. I slumped into the chair and heaved a sigh of relief. For several silent moments I lay there, my body sprawled in the comfortable chair, as the cool air nipped at my burning skin.

A soft shuffle awoke me from my rest. My eyes snapped open and I looked around the room deliriously.

"Who's there?" I called out in a hoarse voice.

When no one responded, I rose quickly from my chair and moved behind it, gripping the wings of the armchair with my hands. Perhaps I was dreaming again. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me. I heard another shuffle behind me and gasped when a hand touched my shoulder. Whirling around, and nearly making myself faint in the process, I found my strange angel standing before me. He seemed even taller now or perhaps that was my skewed perception because of the illness. He was dressed in black, clothing as immaculate and formal as ever. However, something was different. The cravat that he usually wore about his neck was gone, and the shirt beneath was unbuttoned at the collar. He almost looked tired, but of course, he would never reveal any sort of weakness to me. My mind swirled with emotion and with the nightmares and memories of the past few nights. A sudden urge to run took hold of my body, and I stumbled away from him, nearly tripping on my nightgown. I was like a cornered mouse; there was nowhere to run. He began to move towards me, backing me further into the corner of the room opposite the door. My hands shot out, grazing the walls as I tried to balance myself and think of a way to evade him. My eyes looked past him and at the door. I had no other choice.

I quickly rushed around him, intending to make it to the door before he could catch me. Sickness had weakened my body considerably, and as soon as I rounded him, I felt his arms wrap around my waist and pull me back from my escape. I cried out in futility, thrashing my limbs, but he would not let go. A wretched sob escaped my dry lips and I began to sink down to the floor. But he quickly lifted me up into his arms, cradling me for a moment, and walked me slowly to the small couch that lay before the fireplace. As my head found purchase against the soft pillows of the couch, he lifted a hand to my face. I tried to pull away, fear filling my senses, for I did not know his intentions.

"Hush," he said gently as he smoothed my hair back, "You are safe."

I watched him closely as he hovered over me, my breathing rapid and yet controlled for the moment. A slight frown tugged at his full lips as he regarded me. _I must be a sight_, I thought weakly. My long, dark curls were disheveled to say the least and my brow was beaded with sweat. The thin nightgown was. . ._oh god, _I thought, _I am only wearing a nightgown!_ I looked down and could see my chest rising and falling beneath the modest, lace nightgown. The fabric clung to my sweat-soaked skin, revealing too much of my shape for a gentleman to see. He must have known what I was thinking, because as I glanced up from my self-examination, I met his emerald eyes. There was a moment of hesitation in them, and I could see him slowly pulling his hand away from the arm I had not realized he was clutching so fervently. I shifted slightly, trying to draw the hem of my nightgown down discreetly. I fell back against the pillows and let my arm drop weakly off the couch.

He rose quickly, moving out of my line of sight and seemed to be attending to something in another room. Finally, he returned and once again resumed his position by my side. I jumped as I saw the shadow of his arm fall across my face.

"Do not be afraid," I heard him murmur.

His hand drew a cool cloth across my brow, dabbing gently for a minute before re-soaking the cloth in a bowl of cold water at his feet. My lips parted and my breathing slowed. The cloth moved across my forehead again and stopped before brushing down the side of my face. Involuntarily, my face turned into the cool cloth and I sighed with relief at my dying fever.

"Is there any water?" I asked weakly, trying to wet my parched lips.

He turned silently and retrieved a small glass, bringing it slowly to my eager lips. I drank the contents of the glass quickly before he pulled it away. His eyes lingered for a moment on the spot where the glass had just touched. I could see my angel's head tilt ever so slightly before his hand cupped the side of my face and his thumb boldly brushed across my parted lips, removing the trickle of water that had escaped. My heart began to beat mercilessly as his hand lingered there. His eyes were narrowed, deep in thought as he ran his thumb repeatedly over my moistened lips.

My body flushed with heat and I squirmed. "The cloth," I muttered, almost incoherently. He lifted the cloth from the basin and resumed the cooling of my forehead, but I was still not content. My hand lazily found the cloth at my brow, with his hand still clutching it, and moved it down my face and to the side of my neck. I moaned softly, reveling in the feeling of the cold cloth on my fevered skin. He stopped for a moment, his hand almost retreating, when my eyes moved upon his. I could see a strange emotion there – it almost made me afraid, but in my state, I paid no heed.

"Please," I cried, "the heat is unbearable."

He resumed the gentle stroking at my neck. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the gentle caresses across my skin. He moved the cloth across my neck and attended the other side, pausing briefly when I moaned in relief. My chest slowly rose and fell beneath the thin nightgown, and my heart hammered for a reason I could not think of in my delirious state. The cloth moved down my neck and stroked the delicate flesh that met my shoulder. I thought I would die in that moment. My body shook with a strange feeling. I had been so afraid of him, and I still was, but now I could not bear to be parted from his touch. The cloth moved across my collarbone and I shuddered. My eyes flew open and I realized that he had been singing to me. My mind began to rise to the surface again and I glanced at him with widened eyes. The cloth abruptly stopped its movements and we locked eyes. His eyes seemed to burn, just like that horrible night that seemed ages ago, but now there was no hate in those green orbs. They smoldered with a fire that I had never witnessed before and made me shiver in fear and melt in a desire I had never known.

There was a rustling at the door. My angel leaped to his feet and quickly threw a nearby blanket across my shaking body, modestly covering the thin barrier. He moved away from me quickly and a part of me cried out for him. Madame Giry entered the room, her arms full of supplies. Her eyes narrowed when she saw who had been attending me. He moved quickly to leave and threw on the jacket that I had not even realized was removed. He nearly knocked over the basin of water in his haste.

"Thank you, angel," I cried out.

He paused briefly at the door, barely turning his head, and his angelic voice responded with a name I will never forget. "Erik. My name is Erik."

He was gone before I could respond.


	2. Powerless

**Chapter 2**

**Powerless**

* * *

"Are you alright, my dear?" Madame Giry asked after she bolted the door and set down her things.

"Yes, I'm fine," I replied shakily, rising slowly from the couch and approaching her.

"Sit down, sit down!" she commanded. "Look at you! You're as weak as a kitten. I see the fever has finally broken, thank goodness. We must get you cleaned up. I daresay that nightgown is nearly transparent. It is a good thing you were underneath that blanket."

I felt my face flush at her remark. Had I really looked like this while my angel. . .Erik attended me? Madame Giry quickly herded me into her bathroom after a bath had been drawn, and I sunk myself into the warm water. The discarded nightgown lay beside the bathtub and was quickly disposed of by my foster mother. She sat down beside me, eyeing my face for a moment with utmost scrutiny.

"Did he harm you at all, my dear?"

"N-no," I replied, averting my eyes from hers. "He did not."

"Did he threaten you in any way?"

"I was afraid when he came, but he looked after me," I replied.

She studied me again in silence and I tried to ignore her, feeling as though every thought was being laid bare. "Why did you run off so quickly the other morning?"

"I was afraid," I replied, glancing down at my frail hands beneath the water. "I had to speak with father."

"Christine," her voice softened in pity, "You cannot carry on this way. There is no use in communing with the dead. Your father would not have wanted you to dwell so heavily on his death. He would have wanted you to live."

I glanced up at her. "I want to live. I do," I replied, as though trying to her as well as myself. "But I don't know what to do anymore."

She looked at me quizzically, and I continued. "Raoul wants to take me from this place and make me happy. I would never have to worry about my future. I would have a house, a husband, and his love," I mused with an unfocused gaze.

"I can tell you with most certainty that life is never a faerie tale," Madame Giry corrected me with a keen eye. "It may sound perfect now, everything that he has offered you, but problems arise and tarnish the vision."

"I know that," I replied, "I know that far too well now. Raoul is a good man. We were friends, him and I, when we were only children. He has a gentle heart. Is that not enough?"

I glanced down at my hands again, moving them around slowly beneath the water. "We would be happy," I murmured sadly to myself.

"But. . ." she prompted me.

I looked up at her with troubled eyes. "I would have to give up my music if I were to be his wife. Music has always been a part of my life, and I cannot imagine living without it. When _he_ sings with me, I feel as though I will never be the same again."

"You speak of Erik," Madame Giry surmised, adding his name with some hesitation.

I nodded cautiously. "He frightens me. My angel. . .Erik, he frightens me. He has been my teacher for so many years, and I have confided in him like no one else. Yet I always believed he was my angel and his motives were pure. Now that I know he's a man, and that he disapproves of my seeing Raoul, I do not know what to do."

"I think you should be careful," Madame Giry warned. "Erik can be a dangerous man when prompted. I must admit that the interest he has shown in you over the years has been. . .unsettling to me, but you are a woman now, and you must make your own choices. Do not allow either one to make them for you. Christine, I want only the best for you."

"I know," I replied softly, continuing my bath in silence as I mused on her words.

After another day of rest, I was deemed fit enough to return to the dormitories. Meg was persistent with her questions about the night of the Masquerade and of my recent illness, but I remained rigidly silent on the former. I was still deeply troubled by those events, even after I saw Erik in Madame Giry's sitting room. Nothing had been resolved yet, and I did not know what he intended to do now, but I felt a certain dread looming above me nonetheless. I spent the remainder of the week resting in the dormitories and attempting to regain my strength. My performances had been cancelled for now and a replacement had been found to cover the small parts that had been given to me. Even if I tried to summon the health back quicker to sing, I would not have been able to. My mind was in turmoil. Perhaps the others could not see it, but I was a maelstrom of fear and indecision. I dared not return to my dressing room lest _he_ take me away against my will. Would he? I had ignited the fury in him that was untested and unpredictable, and I wanted to believe he would not cause me physical harm, but I was too afraid to ignore any possibility. I spent many long days looking out of the small window in my room at the snowy landscape outside.

Raoul had not come to call on me during my illness. I believe Madame Giry played a part in that. Secretly, I was grateful for the uninterrupted time I had been given. I loved Raoul dearly, but I was beginning to wonder in what sense I loved him. I knew that I loved him because he was kind and gentle, and that the memories we shared were a dear comfort to me. He was a living memory of a warm past that had been long forgotten. Perhaps that was why I clung to him so fiercely; just as I could not let the memory of my father go. There was safety in the past. The future was always a shadowed realm to me. I never knew where my path would lead me, and I sometimes wished that there would always be someone there to guide me. Perhaps I was a weak individual for wanting someone stronger than myself, but it was in my nature to gravitate towards safety. After I had lost father, I had been orphaned and so afraid. I thought I would never feel safe and looked after like I had with him. Until. . .

I shook my head softly. _He _always had a way of sneaking into my thoughts even when I did not willingly summon him. I could not deny the comfort he had offered me, first as a little girl and now as an aspiring singer. But all of that was destroyed. There was no angel sent by father to guide me. There was only a man who had used me, who had took advantage of my naivety, to gain my trust and without knowing it, draw me closer to him. My anger quickly diminished. I knew there was so much more to him. I had seen the vulnerability in his eyes the night I had removed the mask from his face. He had begged me to look beyond his appearance, to love him despite the marred face that still haunted my dreams.

A cloth softly caressing my skin - the memory rushed back of that day when he had attended me while I was sick. I could not deny that something had happened in that instant. I felt a longing within me that I had never felt before, not even with Raoul.

It had been nearly two weeks since my last performance. Tonight, I had been ushered into my dressing room by Madame Giry. This was also the first time I had returned to that room in nearly the same period of time. No one else knew what I did – they did not know of the secret passageway behind the mirror. I was waiting in my corset and chemise for the gown to arrive. Could he be watching me this very moment? I shivered at the thought. Surely he would have the decency to look away while I changed, but I could not ignore the fact that I stood in the middle of the room, barely dressed, while the mirror loomed before me. Madame Giry returned a short time later, but still without the gown. She threw a robe over my shoulders and I looked at her quizzically.

"The Viscount de Chagny wishes to speak with you. I told him it was not a good time and that you are preparing to go onstage. But he stressed that he must speak with you," she told me.

"You may send him in," I said softly, after a moment's hesitation.

I swallowed, feeling a terrible unease descending upon me. What must he tell me now? Would Erik be listening, and if so, how would he react? Before I could move, the door opened slowly and Raoul slipped in politely.

"Forgive me, Christine, but I had to see you. I have respected Madame Giry's instructions and not interfered with your recovery. Now that you are well, I need to discuss what happened."

"Please, Raoul," I interjected, "there is no need."

"Yes, there is," he countered. "He threatened you, didn't he?"

I looked away from his brilliant blue eyes and felt all speech flee my mind. How was I to answer him?

"He was angry when he learned of the ring," I responded after several moments.

"Why? Why should he care for our arrangements?" Raoul argued ignorantly.

"He wishes for me to remain unattached to any man," I answered.

"Who is he to say whom you should not see?"

"Oh, Raoul," I said in irritation, swinging around sharply to face him. "He loves me," I whispered, barely enough for Raoul to hear.

I pitied him for not knowing the full story, for not realizing the reason why I had wanted the engagement kept quiet. I watched his expression change from confusion to anger. For several moments, he paced my dressing room, stopping at intervals to toy with the trinkets that adorned the room, not out of curiosity, but absent-mindedly in deep thought. Finally, he stopped before me and clasped both my hands in his.

"This man. . .he holds too much control over you. You have been frightened for so long. I have seen it in your eyes, but I have never known the reason why, until now. We can leave, Christine. I can call my carriage and we can leave and never return. We can marry and live wherever you wish, and you will always be safe, Christine, I promise that."

Tears flooded my eyes and I squeezed his hands in response. I had to shut my eyes for a moment. It felt as though my heart was breaking in that instant, and I did not yet understand why. "Thank you, Raoul. Your offer means so much to me. But I. . ."

He shook me gently when I hesitated. "What, Christine? Tell me, please!"

"I cannot leave," I murmured.

"Why?"

I turned to face him again. I knew he would never understand my reluctance. "I'm not ready," I replied. "I need time. Everything is happening so fast, Raoul. I just need time to think. Do you understand?"

His expression softened, even though he still could not understand my refusal. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," I said, offering him a smile.

"Will you meet me for dinner tomorrow night?" he asked softly, almost worried what my response would be.

"Yes," I replied gently.

He turned to leave, but I stopped him. "Raoul, you are very dear to me, you do know that, right?"

Raoul glanced at me oddly for a moment. "Of course, Lotte."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replied, closing the door softly behind him.

I heaved a sigh of relief, shaky as it was, and moved back towards my changing screen, sinking down in the small chair behind it. My patience was beginning to wane as I sat in silence for several long minutes. Finally, there was a shuffling in the room.

"I'm ready. You can bring the gown over here," I called out.

There was no response and my brow furrowed in confusion. "Madame? I'm over here."

Still there was no sound. I peeked around the corner, expecting a shy costume girl trying to find her way into the room. Instead, I was greeted with a sight that I did not expect. My heart pounded fiercely in panic when I saw _him_ standing in the midst of my room. He loomed there like an angel of death, if ever I had seen one – so terribly powerful in form. So very different he was from the man I had seen down in the house across the lake. The vulnerability I had seen for that one brief moment had been swept aside and replaced with an imposing figure with coldness etched in his green eyes.

"Angel," I whispered, the word falling from my lips in shock.

His eyes fixed upon me and I could see that the benevolent individual who had attended me only a short time ago was gone. The Phantom was here, in my dressing room, and I could not imagine what horrible designs were in store for me.

"You were planning to run away with him, weren't you?" he seethed.

"N-no, angel," I replied shakily, "I was not."

"Liar!" he roared.

I shook with fear as his magnificent voice echoed throughout the room. I gripped the side of the screen with my hands, continuing to hide myself behind the divider. His steely gaze locked onto my eyes. It was happening again - this strange feeling as though the world were closing in on me. I could not move and I could barely speak.

"Angel, I. . ."

"Don't call me that," he growled.

"I'm sorry," I replied. "Please, maestro, forgive me. I was not trying to anger you. He insisted on seeing me and I had to speak with him."

The Phantom took a step closer and I responded by moving myself even further back behind the changing screen. I could see his gloved hands twisting into fists at his sides. Would it happen now? Would the fury in his eyes spread? I shook with fear, but a part of me was incredibly frustrated. Who was he to interrogate me? I was not bound to him. There was no ring on my finger!

"You accepted his invitation to dinner," he accused me.

"I did, but I did not leave! Isn't that what you wanted?" I cried out, a tear streaking down my face. "I could have! I could have left with him tonight! I would have been safe with him, because I know that he would never harm me."

I shrieked as his hand shot out and latched onto my wrist, tugging me from behind the changing screen, until I stood awkwardly before him. He continued to hold my wrist firmly in his grip, but his eyes quickly moved across my body and I shivered under his scrutiny. At least I had not discarded the robe.

"Let me go!"

"You think I would harm you?" he asked, his beautiful voice twisted in confusion.

I shook with emotion, struggling to loosen my wrist from his grasp and failed. "I don't know," I answered, my voice shaking with each word.

I heard a growl in his throat and he pulled me roughly against him. "Have I ever done anything to you that would make you think otherwise?"

"You threatened to take away my freedom!" I cried out. "You didn't give me a choice!"

"The time for choices has past," he whispered in my ear.

I could feel his breath at my ear and a tremor ran through me. His hand snaked its way through my hair and the other grasped my waist tightly against him. He tugged my head back and I was forced to look into his eyes. My chest heaved with each breath, and I suddenly realized the precarious state I was in. Panic surged through me. I had heard the stories before of women attacked in dark alleys. I could not bear the thought of sharing the same fate. Would he do that? Was my angel capable of hurting me like that?

"Please," I pleaded softly, my voice sounding strangely not my own.

His breath ran ragged, and I could feel it across my face. Those emerald eyes that once burned with anger now seemed to burn with another emotion. I was afraid.

"Please what," he replied, his beautiful voice strained.

I closed my eyes and felt myself being pulled tighter in his embrace. His breath was on my neck again and I whimpered softly. I was so afraid of him in that moment, but something compelled me to surrender. I was in the jaws of the predator, but I found that my struggle was useless. There was no way I could overpower him. His hands slid up my back and pressed me even closer to his strong form. I could feel every muscle tensing in his body, his breath quickening, and his hands tightening as though he were on the verge of lashing out and I had only to provoke him the slightest. The heat from his hands, so unexpected at times because I always thought them cold, radiated through the thin layers of my robe and underclothes, scorching my skin. The unmasked side of his face nuzzled my neck.

"Why did you not let me go when I was in the cemetery?" I whispered brokenly. "I wanted to see my father again. But you took me from him. You take everything away."

He suddenly pulled back from me. There was moisture on his face, and he wiped it away slowly, looking back at me with a strange expression. His hand rose up to my cheek and I cringed, but when it made contact, it was to brush my skin lightly and draw away the tear I was unaware had been shed. A sob fled my lips – I did not know why.

"Don't cry, my love," he said softly. "I cannot bear it when you cry."

I heard a soft rustle at the door. Erik's head shot around quickly. "Damn woman," he muttered under his breath.

"Sing for me tonight," he told me quietly, almost tenderly, before slipping through the mirror and vanishing from my room.

"I always do," I whispered hoarsely long after he had left.

The door opened and admitted a flustered Madame Giry. Meg was trailing behind her, carrying the gown as carefully as she could.

"Christine!" she called out once she had closed the door and glanced over at me. "Child, what on earth is wrong?"


	3. There in the Shadows

AN - Sorry about the long delay. I had a bit of writer's block for a while but I finally found the inspiration to finish this latest installment.

Chapter 3

There in the Shadows

I gave everything to the music. Performance after performance, even if my role was very small, I endeavored to give it my best effort. There was a pull in my soul again – it is very hard to describe. I used to feel this way long before I met my angel in the flesh. During the times when he taught me in the confines of my dressing room, I remember hearing his voice and feeling as though nothing would ever affect me again like that glorious voice. When he told me to sing, I would sing for him. I would pour my heart and soul into the music, feel my body protest from the exertion, but in the end, I would ignore the weakness and fall under his strange spell. I remember ending each lesson with the feeling that I could go no further, that my body could endure no more, and I would fall into bed, exhausted and utterly spent. Those moments were very strange and powerful.

Each night, I could not avoid glancing up toward Box Five. It was an inevitable action – the persistent itch to seek out that shadowed box and search its hidden recesses with my wary gaze. I knew what my angel was now. I knew that he was a man named Erik and that fact in itself would seem to make him less enigmatic to me, but I found myself feeling otherwise. When I sang my parts, the gas lamps shining brightly in my eyes, I could feel an impenetrable gaze locked onto me. That feeling, the shiver that coursed unnoticeably through my body, was the first sign that I knew he was there watching me.

I really was a prisoner. My voice was his to shape and my mind his to control. I sang for him, but there was fear in my eyes. No matter how benevolent he may have been at any one moment, I could not shake loose the thought that a strange doom hung over me. Each night, as I slipped into bed, I would find sleep hard to attain. Even though I was very tired, I would always wonder if tonight were the night that he would come for me. Would he come and take me away from everything I knew, forever? Sleep eventually came, but I would wrestle with my nightmares all night.

One night, after an especially difficult performance, I retired to my dressing room. My body was drained of all energy and I knew that would not be able to make the journey back to the dormitories. I decided to sleep on the small, but luxurious bed that lay to one side of the room. Divested of my costume and wrapped in a warm nightgown, I slipped beneath the blankets and blew out the last of the candles. The room was very dark and the only trace of light seemed to come from the mirror. I shivered beneath my quilt and felt the faint traces of sleep beginning to advance upon me.

I could feel his presence suddenly. There was no sound in the room and no illumination to make me believe it, but I felt him there. The sensation was so indescribable. My body trembled and I suddenly felt like a little girl again, pulling the blankets up to ward off the monsters that lurked in the dark. There were no monsters. I stilled my trembling and forced myself to calm down, as difficult as it was. I feigned sleep but I knew that he was still there, watching me. He had advanced on me and now stood beside my small cot. I felt the air stir near my face and struggled to keep my breathing soft and even. I could almost feel him. My skin prickled as though his hand had hovered above it, so very close. My heart was hammering loudly in my ears and I wondered if he could hear it too. I thought I heard a gentle sigh, but I could not be sure. Then, he was gone.

I woke the next morning, glancing around groggily as though unsure of where I would awake. I was still in my dressing room and my legs were twisted in the sheets – evidence that my sleep had not been sound. Something soft brushed my hand as I moved it about the blankets. My fingers closed around the object and brought it up before my face. A bloom. A single red rose of exquisite beauty tied with a familiar black ribbon. I paused for a moment, running my fingers gently over the delicate petals, and then along the satin ribbon. He was pleased with me. A part of me twisted in uncertainty. How long would this continue? How long would we play this game? Would I anger him again, only to return to his good graces with my performances? The petals brushed my skin by accident as I moved to get up and I froze. For a moment, I remembered his gentle touch. How long had I wished for my angel to be real? How long had I wanted him to be man whom I could touch? Now, my wish was granted and I drew away in fear, for I did not know how to react to something that I suddenly had been granted. Did papa somehow allude to this man when he spoke of the angel of music? Did he somehow know in those final moments of life that I was to be forever tied to this strange man? I was so confused. I did not know what to think.

I continued to perform, but somehow, my mind began to wander and my focus was tainted. I could not bring to my song the emotion so carefully instilled by Erik. I was still becoming accustomed to his name and it sounded strange upon my lips. My eyes would lose their focus upon the stage and I would feel as though I were drifting far from the confines of the opera house. I removed myself from the stage one evening, not satisfied with my performance but too distracted to feel the impact of it. My body ached with fatigue. I pressed through the heavy curtains backstage, blindly moving through them while deep in thought. A pair of hands suddenly shot through the drapery and twisted me back into the shadows on the sides. I was hidden away between layers of curtains, hearing the last of the performers leaving the stage and the hum of the audience gradually fading. A hand was clamped over my mouth, but I did not try to scream. I was strangely calm now, and I did not know why.

After a few minutes, I was turned around to face the figure that I had been so distracted with these past few days. He did not look pleased with me. I did not even try to form a defense to the accusations that were about to be leveled at me. My eyes were fixed upon his, my wrist still in his grasp.

"You are not trying," he finally said. "You are like a shell on the stage."

I remained unmovable, pliant to his every movement.

"Why have you forgotten everything that I have taught you? Why do you sing so vacantly?"

Not a word fell from my lips. I felt him tug me through the curtains and I followed without struggle. We moved through a darkened hall and stopped halfway down. I glanced around in confusion as he turned very briefly towards the wall. Before I could say anything, he tugged me through a hidden door and sealed it behind us. We moved slowly, but steadily down the pitch black passage before stopping abruptly. I felt my body pushed back against a wall I could not see and I let out a breath.

"Why do you neglect everything I have taught you?" I heard him growl.

I could only see his eyes in the darkness and feel his breath upon my skin as we stood so very close. I never felt this way with Raoul. I never felt the quickening of my heart at a mere glance, or at the rough silkiness of his voice when lowered in reprimand. A deep precipice lay before me, one that I feared very much, but my curiosity seemed bent on knowing more.

I finally found the words to speak. "It was not deliberate," I replied.

"Then you admit to your inattention?"

"Yes," I replied softly, my word barely echoing on the dark walls of the small passage.

"What draws your attention away?"

I could not tell him. I was afraid of him in so many ways, and yet undeniably drawn to him. _What should I say?_ I could feel his full scrutiny. Erik's brilliant stormy eyes were upon me, and I could see them shining in the dark from the barest glint of light. I could only counter his accusation with one of my own.

"You watch me while I sleep," I said, my voice shaking in its vain attempt at confidence. "You come into my room without asking."

I felt a hand draw softly across my cheek and I tried to move back, forgetting the wall pressed to my back. The hand removed itself and I suddenly felt cold.

"Are you frightened, Christine?" he asked in the darkness, my name uttered in a slow fashion. "I have watched over you for many years. Why do you shun my presence now?"

"I-I don't know," I lied.

"So you reject your fallen angel so swiftly? You cast him away in the name of that boy?" his voice rose.

I did not mean to anger him, yet I seemed to do just that too often. His hand was clenching my shoulder and I suddenly became aware of the pressure.

"Please, angel, I did not mean. . ."

"Why do you deny your affections for him? Why do you lie to me?" I heard him cry out.

"He is my friend!" I shot back bitterly. "How could I shun a brother?"

I felt his grip slacken and then release me.

"You do not love the boy?" he asked me, his voice strangely hopeful.

It was done. I had admitted a truth that my heart had long deliberated over but now felt certain enough to disclose.

"I love him as a brother," I whispered in the dark of the hidden corridor. "I have realized that."

"Yet you push me away," he added.

"My heart is my own. I should choose who I love," I replied.

"Sometimes you cannot choose who or where you love," I heard him say, his voice soft and ragged.

"That may be," I replied, "but I will not be forced.

"If that is what you wish, so be it," he replied. "I will not intrude upon you again."

I could feel his breath upon my cheek and though I could not see him clearly, I knew he was standing very close. My heart began to race and I did not know whether I wanted to flee or forever be trapped in the dark with him.

"You're shaking," he said softly, his voice strangely husky.

"The hall is cold," I said.

"Before I leave, allow me one liberty, and I will not ask you again," he said.

"What is it?"

"Allow me one kiss, and I will not try again, unless you ask me," he replied.

"If that is what you wish," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. "And I will not," I added.

"Are you sure?" he whispered to me, his face very near to mine.

I shivered as I felt his hand upon my cheek again. It caressed me softly before gently tracing my parted lips. His other hand wound behind my head and I could feel his fingers gently massaging my scalp. His exposed cheek was pressed against mine, and moved down along my neck. I shuddered at the feel of another's face so intimately pressed to mine. I could feel his lips nearly touch the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. A soft moan slid from my lips before I could stop it. I felt him still as my heart continued to race and my breaths came quickly. He moved back up towards my cheek as a hand slid from my hair and wound itself around my waist, pressing me closer to him. I could feel the strength ebbing from his powerful frame. A part of me wanted to lose myself in his embrace, but I could not move as his ministrations continued. I felt my face move upward instinctively, my lips parting and sudden yearning for something I could not articulate. His other hand danced across my face as though taking in every detail of my profile.

"Please," I murmured without thinking.

His embrace tightened once more and I felt his lips upon my cheek, parted and gently caressing the skin in a manner so tender and yet so unbearable. I did not realize it until now, but my fingers were tightly clenching his shoulders. His breath fanned out across my face as his lips pulled away and I waited for the kiss he had demanded. But strangely, it did not come. He pulled away abruptly, leaving me cold and wanting, still pressed back against the wall. My chest heaved with exertion and I nearly slid down the wall. My eyes were unclosed, and seemed to suddenly see when they could see nothing before. My angel was no angel. I was no little girl. He was a man. Erik - that was his name. The name was repeated over and over in my mind. I could not force it out, nor did I wish to. Before I could respond, I found myself gently deposited in the hall outside of the secret passage, suddenly alone and shaking with something other than fear or nervousness.

From that moment, I knew my heart had decided. I was left wanting.


	4. Longing

A/N - This is a shorter post than my usual. I just felt the 'end' was a good place to stop in this particular chapter. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to all of my reviewers - your support and kind words really matter to me!

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Chapter 4

Longing

True to his word, I did not see Erik after that moment in the hall. Nor did I feel his presence in my room at night. Perhaps he still watched as I sang on stage, but I was beginning to doubt myself, every stray feeling or inclination that invaded my senses. I seemed to have become a shadow of my former self; an empty shell that lacked something I could not understand.

Raoul came to my room one night and I knew I had to lay bare the truth. I had him sit down as I carefully explained the nature of our relationship. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but I knew what I had to do. I could not lead on this man that had offered nothing but kindness to me. We had been friends a long time ago, and I wished we could retain that friendship now, but I knew that by turning down his proposal, I was irrevocably hurting him. Our friendship would be fractured, no matter how I tried to repair it. He was reluctant to accept my explanations – he could not believe that I did not love him. Poor, dear Raoul. I knew it would not be hard for him to move on from this moment. There would be another women out there. His good looks, money, and charming though naïve disposition would see to a life not lived alone. We parted on good terms, but it was a bittersweet parting. I was going to miss the safety of his presence. I would miss how warm memories stirred up when we were together.

Life became very quiet again. Each day seemed the same and I began to grow restless. I could not forget that night in the secret passage when Erik had nearly kissed me. It had been a mere brush of the lips across my cheek and I knew that it was not enough. My dreams at night were haunted by him. I could not escape the inevitable destination each night when I closed my eyes, nor did I wish to. I spent many evenings in my dressing room, wondering if his vow was true – that he would not intrude upon me anymore.

Even though I had the basic necessities of life, and the companionship of my friend Meg, I was very lonely. I no longer took lessons with Erik. There was no one to confide in as I once did with my angel. I spent Sundays visiting my father's grave, despite Madame Giry's urges that I move on with my life and allow my father to rest. I had accepted that he would never return again, and that I was to live out my life before I would ever see him again. I needed to visit him because I had so many questions. I wanted to know what direction my life was to take. I wanted to know whom I was to love. I spent many of those days hovering over the snow or laying upon the first sprouts of spring grass and speaking silently to God and my father.

Sometimes, in those quiet moments in the cemetery, I longed for Erik to come to me as he used to. I longed to feel his arms wrap around me and lift me from my turmoil, but he was no longer here, and I had to endure. I missed him very much.

It was after a particularly poor performance that I was finally confronted about the situation. I passed Madame Giry who glanced at me strangely. Meg caught up with me backstage and clutched my hand.

"Christine," she spoke quietly, her blue eyes wide with concern, "tell me what is wrong. You have been silent for days, and your singing tonight was. . .well. . ."

"Awful?" I replied. "Inadequate? Wanting? Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Meg. I just cannot sing anymore. No, I don't want to sing."

"Does this have something to do with your teacher?" she asked, a faint glint of fear behind her eyes. Meg had learned around the time of the Masquerade who Christine's mysterious tutor was. Her mother had warned her to let the matter go, but it had only intrigued Meg even more.

I glanced at her with saddened eyes and nodded softly. "Perhaps, it does," I replied quietly.

Madame Giry suddenly appeared beside her daughter with a frown on her sharp features. "Meg, I need to talk to Christine alone."

"Of course," she replied, casting a worried look in my direction before turning slowly and moving quickly offstage.

We stood alone among the props with the glow of the stage lights diffusing through the heavy curtains. I bowed my head slightly, prepared for a chastisement. Instead, I felt a gentle hand move beneath my chin and raise it. Her eyes had softened and did not reflect the sternness that I was more than familiar with.

"What is wrong, Christine?" she asked.

I bit my lip for a moment, unsure whether I should tell her all that had transpired. "He left me," I replied.

"Who? The young Vicomte?" she asked.

"No," I shook my head. "Erik."

A worried look flooded her gaze.

"I told him to go. I was afraid of him, perhaps more confused than anything, but I could not think of anything else to do. He vowed to stay away from me. Now, I-I. . ."

"It troubles you that he is not near?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted, looking up at her with misted eyes. "There is no joy in my singing anymore. I thought it would always give me pleasure. But this gift is bare and lifeless without. . ."

"Are you in love with him?" she asked, her voice almost unsteady.

"I think so," I replied in barely a whisper. "I do know that I am not in love with Raoul. I could never love him the way. . ." I stopped myself, almost choking back a sob.

Madame Giry encircled me in her arms and I wept quietly into her shoulder. She gently patted my back and I suddenly felt very safe in her embrace. She brushed back my hair and pulled me away, regarding me closely for a moment.

"Have you told him?" she asked.

"No," I cried. I pulled away from her, disgusted with myself. "I am a fool. A child! I cannot even admit what my heart is telling me."

I heard a soft chuckle from her. "You would not be the last, my dear, to make such a mistake. You _are_ young. You have never been in love before. It is frightening and exciting, all at once. It is natural to shy away from the unknown. I cannot tell you what you must do. You must decide for yourself."

"Please, do not tell him of this," I begged.

"As you wish," she replied.

I spent many evenings sitting quietly in my dressing room, staring at the mirror with a fixed gaze. I imagined him coming to me, as he used to, and I could feel the false sense of excitement rising within. My mind fabricated the whole scenario. He was behind the mirror – I could sense his presence so strongly. His beautiful, unearthly voice would fill the room and capture my mind. I would be powerless then, completely under his control, but I would not be afraid. The voice made me feel safe. It bewitched me, captivated me, seduced me, and ravaged me. I began to feel emotions that I had never recognized before, emotions that had been there before, but which I had not allowed freedom to grow. They stirred within me like a tempest and I could feel myself drowning in their waves. I knew he was behind the glass. My fingers sought out the glass in hopes of touching my angel. They brushed across the cold, smooth surface and tingled in anticipation. He would come through at any moment now. I closed my eyes and could feel the rush of cool air and hear his footsteps upon the floor. His arms encircled me and drew me closer, and I did not want to be free again. His hands would hover above my skin, hesitant and unsure, but finally gather enough desire to caress me.

My eyes shot open from the vivid daydream and I moaned softly. So this was what I had become. I had tasted from a forbidden spring and could never quench my thirst from any other again. I yearned for something that I had denied myself, something which I had turned away in fear, but which I now wanted so desperately. I was sitting on the floor beside the mirror, my hands pressed firmly against the glass, almost clawing at it. I felt fresh tears upon my face and cared little for moving my hands to wipe them away.

"Dear God, forgive me," I wept. "I am a foolish girl."

I pulled myself up from the floor, glancing in the mirror at the shell of a girl that stared back at me. My face was pale and my eyes haunted with a pain I recognized. I turned away quickly, ashamed to see anymore, and struggled to clean myself up before I left to stay with Meg. I could not endure a night alone in my dressing room. In my haste, I neglected to hear the mirror slide open as I left the room. I did not hear the footfalls upon the thin carpets. I did not see the dark figure standing in the midst of my room. I heard no voice whisper my name.


	5. Need

Chapter 5

Need

The days passed and I grew more and more restless. I did not realize in the beginning how much I depended on my angel, or how much I needed him. I flourished under his careful tutelage, but more importantly, I was nourished by his love. There had never been another who had loved me so much since my father. There was a potent yearning that I could not rid myself of. I would often sit by a window or look into the mirror and allow my thoughts to travel. _He was_ always in my thoughts. The music that had once haunted me played constantly in my mind, and I found myself being driven towards madness. I began to question my sanity when I could not discern if the music I heard was real or not. Sometimes, I would hear the faint strains of the love song he had sung to me the first time he took me down into his underground world. Other times, I would hear melodies that I did not recognize; melodies that were strangely enticing, exciting, and at the same time dark and frightening. I could not ignore how I felt when I heard the music. Innocent as I was, I still felt a strange pull that left me wanting. I felt as though I would die if I never felt his touch again.

My mind wandered back to the moment when I parted from Raoul.

"_Raoul, I am truly sorry that I cannot be what you want me to be. That I cannot feel what you feel for me. I love you dearly, but my love for you is not what you wish it to be. I remember the good times we shared together as children. It is that affection which still lies in my heart. You are like a brother to me. I could not hurt you anymore by lying to myself and to you. I hope you understand," I explained._

_He glanced at me with an expression of disappointment._

"_Christine," he said, "he has poisoned your mind! Surely you can see that?"_

"_No, Raoul," I argued. "I have made this decision myself."_

"_You are frightened of him, of what he might do if you choose me," he added._

_I shook my head vehemently. "I wish you could understand. I cannot live without music. . .without his. . ."_

_He clutched my shoulders urgently. "Please, Christine, see reason! You cannot spend your life locked away in this opera house. There is so much more out there for you to experience. Let me bring you out into the light, as we spoke of before."_

"_I can't, Raoul," I cried. "Please! I belong here. You live in a world that is foreign to me. I would never fit in there. I was not brought up to be a noblewoman. I cannot pretend. I was born to sing and this is where I belong!"_

"_You will not come?"_

"_No, Raoul," I replied softly, "I must stay."_

"_I love you. More than you will ever know," he said brokenly. _

"_I know," I replied gently. _

_I tried to catch his hand as a last gesture of affection and failed. Perhaps I could make the parting not so abrupt. He left the room quickly, gathering his things together and casting one final glance at me. I could not bear to see the hurt in his eyes, but I knew that it was unavoidable. This was my doing. _

I sat in Box Five with a black ribbon in my hands. My fingers ran over the smooth satin over and over. I had felt compelled tonight to seek out a place where I knew he had been. I had performed many times on the stage below as he watched silently and secretly from this darkened and luxurious box. There was indeed a good view from this vantage point. The soft, plush seat offered a comfort I was not used to. I bent forward slightly, gripping the brass railing before me and wondered if his hands had done the same. I sat back again, pressing myself back into the cushioned chair. A tear fled my eye and I did not even try to wipe it away. I could not endure his absence any longer but I was too afraid to tell him.

"Erik," I whispered softly in despair.

I longed to feel his strong arms around me, even if his embrace frightened me at times. I felt empty and alone without him. Was this how I felt when I first came to the opera house? My eyes fell upon the soft ribbon as I gently caressed it.

The evening's performance was about to start, one in which I had turned down a role, and I had carefully snuck into the notorious box. I did not belong in Box Five. The opera ghost was very specific in his demands that Box Five be kept empty, but the blatant disobedience of that demand secretly thrilled me. The house lights were dimmed and the orchestra began to play and still there was no sign of him. I glanced around urgently, watching for any sign of him. My fingers clutched the armrest tightly. Where was he? Would he come tonight? My hopes were dashed as the opera continued well into the third act, and Box Five remained solely occupied by a pitiful, foolish girl named Christine Daae. The characters were poised on the stage – a lady crying out for her dead lover, who lay still and silent before her. I wept quietly into my sleeve, feeling my shoulders shake with each sob. At least no one could see me in this dimly lit box.

A rustle of clothing sounded behind me and I whipped around, expecting to be caught in the expensive box without invitation. A tall, dark figure stood in the furthest corner, with only his eyes shining in the shadow. I must have looked a sight. I turned away quickly, wiping away the evidence of my disappointment. Before I could turn around again, I could feel his hand on my shoulder and I trembled under his gentle touch.

"Why have you come here?" he said almost coldly.

"Why have you broken your word?" I countered, knowing full well that I wished it for so many days.

"Ah, but you called my name, my dear. It was your doing," he replied.

"I did," I admitted, finally allowing the truth to come out.

I sat very still for several moments, not sure how to proceed. I could feel him standing right behind me, though he had removed his gloved hand from my shoulder. My body still quaked with emotion and I knew that he could see that. He swung around the seats and sat gracefully down beside me. I cannot tell you how relieved I felt to have him so close again. I struggled to look up at him, but my childish fear held me back. Was I afraid to admit how I felt, or was I afraid of the fire that burned in his eyes?

"Erik," I stuttered, "I-I. . ."

His gloved fingers caught my chin and gently tipped my head up. I was frightened of him! I did not feel endangered by him, but I was afraid of the feelings that he evoked in me. Feelings that I tried so hard to avoid, but which haunted me each night in my dreams. The spell that he so often cast upon me was there again. His eyes remained fixed upon my own, and I could feel his hand drift down to mine, enclosing it softly yet firmly. He glanced down for a moment, regarding his hand with a strange expression on his face. Erik reached down and removed the gloves from his hands, dropping them in his lap. I soon found my hand enclosed in his again, only with both of his hands this time. I remembered a time when his touch had been cold to me, but his hands were so warm this time. His piercing gaze moved upon mine again and I trembled beneath his scrutiny.

"You have not fared well in my absence," he murmured softly with his beautifully hypnotic voice. "There is sorrow in your eyes."

He moved a hand up towards my face and gently stroked my cheek as I shut my eyes. My breath came shakily past my parted lips.

"Ask me I shall grant it," he said softly, brushing away the remains of a tear from my other cheek.

"What?" I asked softly, almost trance-like.

"A kiss," he said, his lips nearly touching my ear. "That is all I want. Will you turn me away again? Will you be like the others?"

"Erik," I cried out hoarsely.

"Yes?"

"Please, master," I cried softly. "My teacher, my angel, and. . ."

"Yes?" he continued patiently.

I opened my eyes, pulling myself from the trance that I had fallen into again. I looked up at him with moist eyes and felt my lips tremble with emotion. "I cannot bear your absence any longer! I feel so empty without you. Please, I beg you, do not leave me. I could not bear to be parted from you again!"

His lips crashed down upon mine and I felt myself being pulled into his embrace. He kissed me with such fervor that I could not recall having ever been so consumed before. My lips were hesitant at first but I soon found myself responding to him with a passion nearly equal to his own. His hands caressed my face as he consumed me. One slipped behind my head and threaded through my hair, pressing me even closer to him. I whimpered in pain, ending the kiss abruptly. He looked at me with concern in his eyes and looked down, frowning at the impediment. The armrest that separated us was digging into my stomach. He released me gently and lifted himself from the seat. Before I could breathe, Erik pulled me up. The last thing I remembered, was falling forward into him, his cloak surrounding me as a pleasant darkness descended upon my mind.


	6. Mine

A/N - Thank you to all of my reviewers so far! Sorry about not having posted sooner. My muse returned this evening and helped me finish this chapter.

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Chapter 6

Mine

When I awoke from my strange slumber, I found myself back in my dressing room, tucked beneath the warm blankets of my small bed. I glanced around slowly in confusion. Could everything have been a dream? Did I imagine the scenario? _No,_ I cried softly to myself, _it must have been real_! It had to be! I pushed back the blankets and slipped from my bed, pausing for a moment in horror. My bare feet met the cool floor and I looked at my legs in shock. I was not wearing my stockings. My eyes travelled further up, noticing that my dress was missing as well. My hands immediately clutched at my sides. The corset I had been wearing was gone as well. The only garment I felt was the thin chemise I was wearing beneath the dress. _Dear God_! I stumbled towards the mirror and confirmed what I had feared - I, Christine Daae, wearing only the scandalously thin chemise and leaving very little to the imagination. I broke out in a cold sweat wondering how I had come to be this way. Madame Giry! She must have helped me after Erik brought me back to my room. She must have! Surely he would not have done this himself! I had a sinking feeling that my suspicions were correct. I moved away from the mirror in embarrassment, covering myself quickly with a nearby robe as I reminded myself that the mirror was not one-sided.

I moved back towards my bed, reminding myself that nothing could be accomplished tonight by worrying. I slipped back into bed, laying a hand over my eyes in contemplation. When I opened them again, I glanced over at the small table near my bed. A single red rose lay there, with a black satin ribbon tied carefully around the stem. I hesitantly picked up the flower and examined it absent-mindedly. He would not have looked! After all, he was very proper in his conduct. . .most of the time. I groaned in frustration. As I fell back asleep, I found myself wondering about the possibilities. I felt my cheeks flush at the idea of it all – his elegant, graceful hands loosening the fastenings of my gown, untying my corset and watching it drop to the floor, and rolling my stockings down my legs with only the barrier of my flimsy chemise to block his view, somewhat. That night was restless for me. I recall dreaming vividly all night, and what I do remember from my dreams was certainly not something I was prepared to share with Erik.

I returned to my practices the following day. Somehow, I found a renewed interest in my work and I was eager to resume the singing that I had forsaken lately. I did not see Erik throughout the entire day. As I sang upon the stage, in preparation for the latest opera, my eyes wandered the seats and settled upon Box Five, hoping to see a dark figure there. I could not see anything and a feeling of disappointment descended upon me. _Where is he?_

After rehearsals, I ran back to my dressing room, hoping to find Erik there. I thought of the many roses he had left for me after my performances and I longed to find another one. More importantly, I wanted to see him again. I stopped abruptly before my door and thought of the events of the previous night as a blush flooded my cheeks. Was I afraid to face Erik after the passionate kiss we shared? I could not decide. My stomach churned nervously as I turned the handle and slowly walked into my dressing room. Unfortunately, Erik was nowhere in sight. I began to feel concerned. Had I done something wrong? Was he disappointed with me? For a very long moment, I stood before the mirror with a look of discontent on my face.

I glanced over at my dresser and saw no red rose placed on its surface. Deeply troubled, I moved quickly to my changing screen and rid myself of my costume, trying hard to keep bitter tears from welling up in my eyes. I slipped a nightgown over my head and moved slowly towards my small bed. Sleeping in the dormitories was out of the question – I needed to be alone.

Morning came rather quickly, and I stretched lazily as I awoke from a restless night of sleep. I moved my aching body from bed and walked over to my dresser where my water basin lay. Before I began to wash my face, I noticed an enveloped resting beside my toilette. My fingers sought out the elegant envelope and lifted it up for a closer examination. The front was unaddressed and I turned it over to find a red seal with the image of a rose pressed deeply into the wax. I traced my finger over the seal in quiet contemplation, wondering why he would not speak to me in person. Every letter received in this manner by the members of the opera house was always cold and threatening. I began to worry about the nature of the letter – had I offended him? Was he angry with me?

I broke the seal after a moment's hesitation and slid the letter out, allowing the envelope to drop at my feet. Upon the parchment was a familiar elegant script.

_My dear Christine,_

_Forgive me for my absence. I did not intend to abandon you, but I had business to attend to. We will meet soon._

_E_

I waited all day and well into the evening for him to come. Somehow, the hours seemed to pass more and more slowly. Late that evening, I was walking back to my dressing room after spending dinner with Meg and the other girls. In the silence of the hallway, I imagined his voice in my mind again. A strange melody played, one that I had not heard before, and I shivered at the sensuality in his voice. I began to hum softly to myself and rounded a corner only to be pulled into the shadows, locked away from the dim light of the oil lamps. My breaths came raggedly, and before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth.

"Shhh, mon ange," I heard _him_ say softly in my ear.

He slowly pulled his hand away and wheeled me around in the dark until I could see his eyes glowing softly and barely make out his tall, dark form.

"Erik?" I whispered.

He tugged at my hand, leading me through the darkness. I could see nothing as we hurried through the secret passages and I began to grow fearful. Erik did not say anything and I was beginning to wonder if he was angry with me. We began climbing a long, winding flight of stairs. My steps began to slow as I grew tired. The tug at my hand caused me to stumble and I cried out. Erik stopped, turning around to look down upon me.

"Forgive me," he said softly, helping me along carefully and slowing his pace. I knew that he could climb this endless flight of stairs without pause.

We continued our upward journey, and just when I thought I couldn't climb any further, we reached a door. Erik stopped, allowing me to catch my breath. I felt as though my legs would crumble beneath me and suddenly I found Erik holding me firmly.

"Where are we?" I panted softly, leaning my face against his shoulder.

His hand stroked my hair gently as I leaned against his strong frame. He released me for a moment and I heard a rustle of fabric. Before I knew it, I felt his cloak draped around my shoulders and heard the door before us open. Beyond the door I could see an expanse of lights blinking brilliantly in the distance. Erik led me outside and I realized that our journey had led us to the roof of the opera house. I smiled upward at the vast expanse of stars in the heavens above. All around us, the city twinkled with a warm glow on the cold winter night. A light dusting of snow covered the ground as I walked out into the night air.

"It's so beautiful," I mused.

"Yes," Erik replied softly from behind me, "so beautiful."

I whirled around to face him and found that his eyes held a strange longing. He stepped forward, hesitating for a moment, and lifted a gloved hand to my cheek. My eyes closed as he stroked my face and I found myself falling under his spell again. The air was very cold and I was grateful for the cloak around my slender body. I instinctively moved closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body, and pressed my cheek against his chest. His arms moved to embrace me and a smile played across my lips. We stood like that for several minutes, relishing each other's embrace. Finally, Erik was the first to break away and I looked up at him in confusion.

"Christine," he began, pronouncing my name with such reverence that I felt unworthy of bearing it, "there is something I must ask of you."

"What is it?" I replied, wrapping my arms around myself under the heavy cloak.

He paced away from me, walking towards Apollo's Lyre. His gloved hand grazed the cold statue and he seemed lost in thought. Something seemed to be troubling my strange angel. After watching him for a moment, I moved towards him and stopped just behind him, unsure if I should disturb his silence. Erik was unpredictable – there were moments when I was afraid to approach him. My hand lifted of its own accord and almost reached to touch his shoulder, but drew back in fear. Something was wrong, and I began to fear the worst. Had I angered him? Could I never please him?

"Erik," I finally said, my voice wavering. "Did I do something wrong?"

He turned around abruptly at my interruption with his usual gracefulness. The dark emerald eyes which I had been drawn to fastened upon mine with a strange intensity. I drew back, fearful of his reaction.

"I'm sorry if I've disappointed you. I know that I hurt you when I accepted Raoul's proposal. I just pray that someday you can forgive me. I was a silly girl who didn't even know her own heart."

Something in his eyes softened. "My angel, you need not apologize." He turned from me and walked along the roof slowly, stopping in one particular spot to look down upon the snow-covered ground. "I was here when he offered to take you away from me. I heard every detail, every song, and saw every kiss.

I drew back a breath and shuddered at the revelation. I did not know that he had been spying on Raoul and I. What he must have thought! What pain must have tormented him when I accepted Raoul's love! Emotion overwhelmed me and I could not speak.

"The rose that I gave you was dropped on the ground right here. I remember exactly how it looked in the snow, its petals a brilliant blood red, so rare, so beautiful, like the angel who used to sing for me."

Tears coursed down my cheeks. I had hurt him so very much, and I could not think of deserving his forgiveness. I was ready to turn around and walk towards the door, but he stopped me.

"No. Don't leave," he said firmly.

I allowed him to pull me back towards him until I was standing so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. He pulled the cloak back upon my shoulders, as it had slipped sometime earlier, and pulled the heavy garment snugly around my body. I looked up at him in silence and he looked back at me. I felt his hand upon my cheek, gently brushing away the tears, and found my eyes closing. The pads of his thumbs stroked my skin and I suddenly felt the urge to lean into his embrace.

"Christine, I find that I cannot let you stray from my side. I nearly lost you to that boy," he said bitterly. "You are mine, and I refuse to share you with anyone."

"I will always be yours – you have my soul already," I replied.

"Yes, but I must have more than your soul," he replied, his eyes shining intensely upon mine. The heat of his gaze caused a blush to rise in my pale features. I moved to turn away from him shyly, but his finger caught my chin and held it in place. "Why do you try to run?"

"I'm afraid," I replied honestly.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of you," I answered softly.

He released me and I struggled to explain. "With Raoul, there was always light. With you, there is the night. You haunt every dream and every thought that I have. The power in your voice makes me tremble. The look in your eye frightens me most."

"What do you see?" he asked, moving slowly toward me.

I looked up again and trembled for a moment, caught in the predatory gaze of his emerald eyes. "I see a hunger and a passion that frightens me. It awakens something in me which I do not understand."

He moved swiftly to embrace me again and I shuddered softly against his frame. "Is it wrong," he asked, "to desire someone so?"

"I don't know," I whispered, "I have never felt this way before."

His mouth descended upon mine and I found myself overcome by the passion of his kiss. I clutched at his coat, and he pulled me firmly against himself. He demanded entrance into my mouth and I surrendered to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss. A soft moan fell from my lips as he hungrily claimed me by trailing kisses along my neck. I felt breathless and he suddenly drew back, looking into my eyes with a fire that ignited a part of me I had never truly known before.

"Mine, Christine," he growled softly. "You are mine, now and forever."

"Yes," I whispered breathlessly.

I felt him slip a ring upon my finger, but I did not struggle or argue. "You will only wear my ring now. "


	7. Confession

Please forgive me for my very, very long absence. I'm a bad, bad author. I have to admit that writer's block was the primary reason I haven't posted sooner, but after my recent reviewers contacted me, I felt that I needed to get something out there pronto! I hope you enjoy this posting. If there are any grammatical/spelling errors, please overlook them. . .I wanted to get something to you ASAP. I value each and every person who reviewed!

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**Chapter 7**

**Confession**

I did not remember much of the night beyond our time on the roof. My angel and I had spent a while gazing up at the stars, while he shielded me from the cold with his cloak wrapped around us both. I must have fallen asleep in his arms, for I vaguely remember being carried back down the stairs in the dark, with only the sound of his steady breaths and his heartbeat at my ear.

When I awoke in the morning, I found a dozen red roses, red as blood, laid upon the small table beside my cot. I inhaled their fragrance and smiled gently at the gift. Lifting my hand, I examined the glittering ring upon my finger. I had never owned such exquisite jewelry and somehow I felt unworthy of it, but my angel had been clear that I wear his ring and so I did.

I had been rehearsing Don Juan for several weeks, though my angel had remained strangely aloof during that time. He had insisted upon practicing as we used to, in my dressing room, as he remained hidden behind the imposing mirror. I was confused and questioned him several times about it, but he would not answer me directly, and seemed to have perfected the art of changing the conversation. Practicing without being able to see him was becoming disconcerting, to say the least. Yet, each morning following our rehearsal, I would find a red rose waiting for me.

The opera itself was so strange and passionate. I would find myself trying to hide a blush as I read over some of the lyrics. Had Erik really written this? A tremble ran through my body, though I was not cold. The imagery of the opera was fiery and bold. I kept wondering if there was a meaning to the body of work. Erik had me practice continuously until I had perfected each score. Often I would end a song, and thought I heard the sound of ragged breathing behind the mirror, but I quickly dismissed it as my own. Each time I sang the lyrics he wrote, I would find myself falling deeper and deeper into a place I was afraid to discover.

Many nights, after he bid me goodnight, I would find my sleep riddled with dreams that left me strangely warm and shaking. Most often, I forgot what I had dreamt about, but whenever Erik returned for another rehearsal, I could feel my body stir at the sound of his voice and I knew that I had been dreaming of him. In the sparingly few moments that I remembered, I would lay silently in the dark of my room, aching for something that I could not define.

It was the night before the first performance. Our last practice was brief, as Erik wished me to get as much rest as I could. However, he did not leave as quickly as he had every night. As I sat on the chaise near my fireplace, he spoke to me words of encouragement.

"You have pleased me greatly, my dear," he said.

I smiled softly and replied to the empty room, "Thank you, Erik."

There was a long pause before he broke it with a question. "What do you think of my opera?"

I looked up quizzically and chose my words carefully. "It is a passionate opera."

"Is that all?" he asked.

I turned away from the mirror and clutched at the cushions with nervous fingers. "There is something disturbing about its theme."

"What do you find disturbing, mon ange?"

I hesitated for a very long moment. Was his opera about me? Was I Aminta? Was I the girl to be seduced and conquered by the great Don Juan? Was I mere object of desire?

"Don Juan seduces Aminta, but does he. . .does he love her?" I blurted out.

My question was met with silence and I waited nervously for his reply. Did he love me? I know that he desired me, but I had not heard him say the words.

"Why do you ask this question?" he finally responded, his voice strangely affected.

"Am I Aminta?" I asked, emotion rising in my voice.

I felt a draft and shivered slightly, my body still turned away from the mirror. The mirror had slid open and I could hear Erik stepping into my room. My heart began to race – he had not come to me for weeks, and the only contact I seemed to have had with him had remained in my dreams. I could not turn and face him, for I feared the reaction he would have to my question. Footsteps sounded on the carpeted floor and still I did not move. His mere presence still made me quake.

A hand reached out and grazed my shoulder. I stiffened slightly and caught a glimpse of a gloved hand lingering on my skin.

"You tremble, my dear," he said softly. "Do I still frighten you so?"

I let out an unsteady breath and turned slowly towards him, my eyes still resting upon the floor. I felt his finger move beneath my chin and gently raise my face up towards his. Erik. My angel of music seemed even more glorious now than ever before. Perhaps it was the time spent apart, but I felt more drawn to him than ever before. I had missed the intensity of his green eyes, the firmness of his jaw, and the elegance of his demeanor.

"I was inspired," he began, casting his eyes beyond me. "I began to write it long ago, but I was inspired by a young chorus girl."

His eyes settled upon me once again and I felt a surge of warmth fill my face. "You are not convinced," he said flatly.

"Angel. . ."

"Please, Christine. For god sakes, call me by my name! I am not some perfect, ethereal being. I am a man! Or is that what frightens you most? That the perfection you once believed in is gone, and is replaced by a man. A man who. . ."

"Stop! " I cried out.

"Say my name!" he roared.

His hands were gripping my arms, bruising the tender flesh beneath my gown. I tried to fight back, to beat at his chest with my fists, but I found my strength draining swiftly from my body. The Phantom was more powerful than I could ever be, and I had invoked his wrath.

"Please, stop it! You're hurting me!" I cried out bitterly.

"I'm a monster, aren't I?" he hissed. "That's all you see when you look at me. You doubt my intentions because you see a monster before you. A monster incapable of human feeling. This thing you see before you would only bring you harm. . .would sacrifice you to his devilish desires and throw you away?"

His chest heaved with exertion and suddenly he ripped the mask from his face and let it drop to the floor. He pulled me closer and forced my face upwards.

"Look at the monster who desires you, Christine!" he roared again, his hot breath fanning across my face.

"Erik," I cried softly, tears rolling down my cheeks as my body began to sink to the floor. "Forgive me. Please. You are no monster," I cried.

He let me slide to the floor and watched with a strange detachment as I rubbed my sore arms and wept violently upon the carpet. "I didn't mean. . .you are no monster to me. You have always been my angel, even when I learned you were a man. You're my angel. Erik, my angel. Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?"

Suddenly, I felt his presence beside me and found he had sunk down beside me and quickly gathered me into his arms. I could feel tears fall upon my temple and realized they were not my own. I whimpered when his hands brushed along my bruised flesh and he responded by lifting my body into his arms and standing up. I could feel his chest heaving and his harsh breaths in my hair.

"My beautiful angel," he sobbed. "Forgive me. What I have done is. . .inexcusable!"

He carried me over to my cot and laid me gently upon the sheets, lifting the blankets over my quivering body. My face was ruined with my own tears, but he carefully, as though touching a porcelain doll, brushed away the moisture with his long, exquisite fingers. I looked up at him, maskless and vulnerable, and wept for us both. He laid his head against my shoulder and began to sing a gentle melody, calming me down. My hand moved slowly upward until it found his hair and tenderly stroked the raven locks. I heard him sob again, my shoulder becoming damp with his tears.

"I love you, Erik," I whispered brokenly, feeling myself being pulled into a dreamless sleep.

I did not hear him as I fell asleep. I did not hear the whispered response to my declaration.

"I love you more than you will ever know, my love. Forgive me, Christine, my angel. You will know tomorrow. "


	8. Falling Apart

A/N - Thank you again to all those who reviewed. I'm trying to stick to my plan of updating more regularly.

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Chapter 8

Falling Apart

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I sat in my dressing room, only minutes before I would be summoned to the stage for the first performance of Erik's opera, Don Juan Triumphant. I was gently brushing my hair, my mind very far away from the task. I wondered where he was right now. Would he watch the performance from Box Five? Or after the events of last night, would he retreat to his kingdom beneath the cellars? My eyes found their way to the small mirror at my vanity, and I could see the vacant expression in their depths. I looked worn and tired. Despite a full night of sleep, I did not feel completely myself. My eyes wandered down to my arms, and I rubbed the skin hesitantly, observing the bruises that colored my upper arms. The small sleeves of my costume barely covered the bruises, and that was when they were scandalously draped off my shoulders. I had felt uneasy from the first moment I had tried on the costume. I felt. . .vulnerable.

I rose from my chair and glanced at my costume in the large mirror. The skirts were much shorter than I was accustomed to. I looked like a street girl. I looked like a whore. A tear found its way down my cheek and I hastily brushed it away, determined not to ruin the thick layer of stage makeup that had been painstakingly applied. I knew Erik had seen to every detail of this opera. Even this costume was his creation. Was this what I was to him? Was I no better than a harlot - a temptation that he had struggled to conquer?

What would become of me?

* * *

I knelt on the floor of the stage and began to sing my lines, waiting for Piangi to enter on cue. The stage lights were especially bright tonight, but I was grateful that they blinded me from seeing the audience. To say my heart was troubled was an understatement. I wanted to leave now. I wanted to run away and forget my troubles. I wished my father was still alive, so that I could run to him and find comfort in his arms. What would Erik say to me this evening after my performance? Would he come to me? I found myself wishing I was far away from the stage.

Suddenly, a voice began to sing behind me – Piangi's part. Only, it was not Piangi's voice I heard. The voice was unmistakable in its awesome beauty and power. I could never resist Erik's voice, and now was no exception. The rich voice, so unearthly and haunting, slipped around me like silk and wrapped me in a warmth almost too unbearable. What had happened to Piangi? Why was Erik here on this stage? I tried to focus, to wait for my cue.

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses_

_Completely succumbed to me._

I was Aminta. He was proof of that right now, this strange Don Juan that approached me slowly like a predator, circling and looking down upon me. I was his to seduce, to control, and perhaps, to destroy. Had his tears last night not been out of love for me?

The duet passed by in a blur of reds and oranges. I found myself tangled in his arms, hypnotized by his music, and completely under his control. There was no avoiding it. The confusion and fear was leaving my body – he had willed that. Now, the only thing I could feel was the trail of his hands across my body. I thought I felt them tremble, but I could not decide if it was me. My eyes wandered out into the audience and I shook with an unnamed emotion.

There upon a box nearest the stage, sat a man who I had turned away. My eyes met his for a brief moment and I nearly lost my concentration. What was Raoul doing here? I saw a look of unbridled concern fill his handsome face as he leaned forward in his seat. I glanced back at Erik as subtle as I could, and I could see the recognition in his eyes as he glanced upward as well. I felt his grip on me tighten for a moment. He whirled me around, continuing with the song as though nothing had happened, but I could feel his fury in the song. I sang my part with a trembling voice while a tempest was brewing within my mind. I had to do something! I did not know why Raoul was here, but I knew that the consequences of his presence were dire. _What must Erik be thinking_, I asked myself. I concentrated on the words, trying to pour the sincerity of heart into my voice. I had to make him understand. I needed him to believe that there was nothing between Raoul and myself, because I knew he was thinking that.

_. . . and now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided . . . _

I had decided long ago, perhaps denying it to myself, but the decision had been made the first time my angel came to me. I could not deny the power he held over me. I could not deny the feelings he invoked in me, the way I responded to his voice . . . his touch.

We stood above the stage, approaching one another in what seemed like an inevitable destruction of both our souls. Our voice combined in song, fitting together perfectly, and rose with emotion. Finally, he held me tightly by the waist, pressing me intimately against his chest. The anger in his grip had weakened, and I could feel his hands becoming gentler upon my body. His song changed, but so caught up in his voice was I, that I did not realize the words he sang were nearly the same that Raoul had used upon the rooftop. Did he mock me now? Did he mock my feelings, knowing that Raoul was close by? He would never believe me now, I thought bitterly to myself. Raoul had ruined everything. The trust that I had so carefully tried to build was being knocked down.

Erik whirled me around in his arms.

_Christine, that's all I ask of. . ._

Without knowing why, I pried the mask from his face before he could finish his song. A look of shock came over his ravaged features. I tried to make him believe with a look. I tried to pour my feelings into my expression, but his attention quickly drew away from me and surveyed the area, spotted Raoul as he alerted the gendarmes, and then looked around for something else.

His arms tightened around me and I felt him grasping at a lever, noting for a moment that we stood upon a trap door. My arms wove instinctively around his body and I buried my face against his chest as the door swung open and we fell. Color and light blurred around me as we fell, and I clung to Erik in terror. In what seemed like an instant, we reached the bottom of whatever it was we had fallen through. It had not been a true fall – Erik had used a system of ropes and pulleys to control our descent.

He had planned this.

Now I lay panting upon a dirty, stone floor in the dark. We were in the cellars. I could hear him nearby, his harsh breaths cutting the darkness.

"Erik?" I cried out softly, wincing at the meekness of my voice.

I felt a hand roughly grab me and pull me to my feet. He began to drag me deeper into the dark and I protested, but Erik was too strong. I was forced to follow, though I could not keep up and found myself tripping and stumbling behind him.

"Erik, please," I cried, "stop! Where are we going?"

He did not answer and I knew that my worst fears had come true. I could hear cries from far above, and wondered what had transpired in the opera house. I cried out in pain as he continued to drag me down further beneath the opera house, to his house.

"Angel, please," I moaned.

I tried to reach out and touch his shoulder, but he quickly yanked it away from me, issuing a menacing growl .

"Please, Erik. I love you! Please, talk to me!"

He stopped abruptly and I stumbled into him. I felt him whirl around in the dark and suddenly I was forced up against a cold wall. I could feel his breath in my face, and his fingers tightening. "Love?" he cried in disbelief. "Love! Do not mock me, Christine!"

"I'm not," I wept, a sob wracking my body.

"Do not lie to me anymore! I saw _him_ there! I saw your boy there! What were you planning? Were you planning all this time to run away from me? Did you think you could deceive me, that you could fool me? I am not a man to be trifled with, my dear! I have killed scores!"

I cried out of grief, tears pouring down my cheeks.

"Did you know that, Christine?" he seethed. "Did you know that your angel was once a killer? Did you know that he killed for the khanum of Persia? That he sent many men to their deaths?"

I tried to wrench my arms free from his hands, but I could not. "Stop it, Erik. Stop it!"

"I gave you so much, and this is how you repay me? "

He pulled away from me and yanked me forward into the darkness. I did not know what doom lay before me. Everything that I had dreamed of was falling apart. My hopes were crushed.


	9. Shattered Glass

A/N - Again, thank you so much for the kind reviews! They keep me writing! Your sleepy author spent the last week in the Mayan Riviera and returned in the midst of this crazy swine flu scare. I was in an isolated resort area, so I'm pretty sure I didn't pick up anything nasty besides the usually Mexico vacation fun (also known as the runs) and a mild cold. Annoyingly enough, I just found out my best friend is moving across country on Saturday and her husband doesn't want her to see me until Friday because I MIGHT have swine flu and he doesn't want to take it with him and infect his sister who just had a baby. Argh! I'm gonna lose it if I have to wear a mask to work (another friend on the trip had to do that when she got back). So, fueled by anger and much angst, I pumped this baby out during one afternoon. I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 9

Shattered Glass

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I don't know how long we traveled through the dark, damp corridors far below the opera house. My dress was ruined, torn and dirtied as Erik roughly pulled me behind him. I had stopped resisting and had fallen into step behind him, like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

Why had I removed his mask? Why had I provoked him so? I was having trouble finding the answers, but I think that one of the motivations for my action was to get his attention. I needed him to see that it did not matter to me – what he looked like did not matter to me. Perhaps I did it because I could not stand the distortion of the truth any longer.

What I had done had angered him beyond reason.

I tripped over another impediment in our path and let out a startled yelp. Erik did not even stop. I only felt his grip tighten on my arm as he painfully dragged me onward. My face was wet with tears, but my cries did not soften his heart. I had broken it beyond repair. My stupidity had broken his heart.

We finally reached the house by the lake. He threw me to the ground and began to pace irritably, as though trying to decide his next course of action. I gazed up at him in fear, waiting for his punishment. Finally, Erik stopped and looked down upon me with a strange detachment in his eyes. His mouth opened slightly to speak, but I could see his thoughts were warring and he was planning something. Finally, he spoke, and I shook at the sound of his voice.

"Go to your room," he commanded, "there is a dress waiting there for you. Put it on and return to me."

I nodded obediently, rising slowly like a cowering animal, the whole time, keeping my eyes fixed upon his form, as though he would strike lest I look away. I started towards the Louis Phillip room, but I stopped suddenly in my tracks.

"Erik," I called to him in appeal, "I-"

"Go!" his voice boomed in the caverns.

I turned and fled, feeling anguish filling my throat. I burst through my door and hurled myself upon the soft, feminine bed, sobbing brokenly into the pillows. There was nothing I could do now. The love I had seen and felt in his eyes was gone. I would no longer feel any tenderness in his touch. I would never feel the warmth of his arms. He would not croon softly to me songs of love and affection. My heart was breaking too. I began to feel the girl that I was slip away from me and be replaced by the cold reality of adulthood. The faerie tales of my youth were mere fiction. There was nothing happy or ever after in the life before me. My clumsiness had tainted all of that.

Finally, after the tears had stopped flowing, I picked myself up from the bed and examined my state. The Aminta costume was ruined and I methodically stripped out of it, leaving it in a pool at my feet. I glanced over at the wardrobe, noticing a dress hanging from handle. My feet carried me like an automaton towards the garment that waited for me. I felt my hands reach out to stroke the soft lace trim of the wedding dress that hung before me like a death sentence. The dress was intricately decorated and the shape was stylish and modern. I knew Erik had spent a lot of money on the dress.

Without hesitating, I lifted the garment into my arms and began to dress myself. It hugged my body perfectly as though it had been made exclusively for me. I smoothed my hands over the fabric, admiring the long flowing gown and the delicate beadwork on the bodice. My body moved towards the mirror where I stood for several long moments and studied myself. It was not me who looked back in the darkened mirror. There stood a strange young woman, eyes haunted and fatigued. Her hair had fallen from its arrangement and hung in messy ringlets around her shoulders and passed her breasts. She reminded me of a ghost – her face was pale and the dress only added to the ethereal nature of her form.

I pulled myself away from the mirror, moving slowly and purposefully towards the door. Erik would be waiting for me. My hand turned the handle and opened the door, and I moved through into a life I could not imagine. I saw him standing exactly where he was when he had sent me away. His back was facing me and I could see it was very tense, reminding me of a coiled serpent, ready to strike at any moment. I moved slowly towards him, no longer afraid or hurt or anything – I could not feel anymore.

As I approached, he whirled around and faced me, glaring at me with his burning eyes. The mask was still gone from his face – one side ravaged and the other coldly handsome. I trembled only briefly under his intense gaze and stopped before him, lowering my eyes to the ground and waited for his verdict. I could hear the harshness of his breathing as he studied me. The moment seemed to last for an eternity, as they say, and I began to feel impatient. It did not matter what happened to me anymore; I only wanted to know what my fate was so I could look it in the eyes.

"Hold out your hand," he ordered, his voice strangely altered.

I complied, lifting my left hand automatically. I felt him remove the ring he had given me, only to replace it with a larger one, the diamond glittering upon my slender finger. I studied it silently, marveling at its clarity and exquisite setting.

"You will be my wife," he said, not a question, not a plea, but a fact.

I lifted my eyes to his and tried to find something in them I could hold on to. Nothing in their depths suggested any warmth.

In despair and resignation, I responded to his statement. "Yes."

This was my fate. My punishment. I had earned everything that had transpired, and it was up to me to accept the life I had created. I had been confused, ambiguous, and idiotic in my feelings. I had wounded him deeply. I deserved nothing more.

"Christine!" a voice called out in the gloom.

I could hear the splashing of water and saw Raoul emerge from the darkness. Something within me surged to the surface and I cried out.

"Raoul!"

"Christine, are you alright?"

Erik stepped before me, blocking Raoul's view of me, and addressed him coldly. "She does not require your assistance any longer. I suggest you leave before there are consequences."

Raoul's eyes narrowed and he glanced at Erik with malice. "Have you hurt her, phantom? I swear if you have, I will kill you!"

"Do you not understand?" Erik seethed. "You have entered my home and I will kill you if you do not remove yourself."

"I cannot leave her. She is coming with me and you will no longer harm her," Raoul stated firmly, approaching Erik.

I knew that Raoul would never survive Erik's fury and I had to do something. I could not allow my dear friend to die needlessly. I stepped around Erik, much to his surprise and called out to him with pleading eyes.

"Raoul, you have to go! You mustn't come here ever again."

A pained and shocked looked flooded his perfect features. "Christine! Do you not realize the danger you are in? I cannot leave you here to die."

"I have not died, nor will I," I explained. "I am now his wife."

I held up my hand in proof and Raoul gazed upon the ring in muted horror. "But-but this cannot be your choice. Christine, please, I can help-"

"No, Raoul," I interrupted. "It was my choice. I have chosen this life. I am Erik's wife."

I watched with a tear in my eye as Raoul digested the news. Disbelief was etched upon his noble brow.

"It is improper for you to pursue me any longer," I explained gently but firmly. "Please, Raoul. Build a life for yourself. I have my own now."

He stared into my eyes for a while and I believe he saw my conviction, for he finally backed away, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

"Very well," he replied, taking one last glance at Erik, who stood menacingly behind me like a dark specter.

"You know where I am, Christine. If ever you need anything-"

"She will never need anything from you," Erik hissed.

I gently laid a hand on his clenched fist without turning my head and added, "Thank you, Raoul, but I am alright. You must trust me."

After Raoul had left, I stood silently in Erik's presence and waited for him to say something. My only hope of rescue was gone now.

Finally, he moved with purpose across the room and began to gather together several items. He paused in his actions for a moment.

"We are leaving this house," he muttered. "They will come looking for me."

"Where will we go?" I asked, my voice oddly trembling.

"I have made plans," he answered, stopping only briefly to catch my gaze before returning to his work.

His plans were not made clear to me. I followed him from the cellars up to the gated entrance at Rue Scribe. He had not even allowed me a moment to change from my wedding gown. A carriage was waiting just beyond the gates and glanced with trepidation at its darkened form. Erik moved to open the door and escorted me inside before closing it and speaking to the driver in hushed, low tones. I waited nervously for my husband to join me, my hands wringing the delicate fabric of my gown.

What would become of me? What would fate decree? What would God have in store for my life? I prayed that if grim, it would be swift. I wondered for a moment if I would ever be able to visit my father's grave anymore. It seemed like such a long time ago, when I had thrown myself into deaths arms, hoping to join him in heaven. Now, that destination seemed hopeless for me, for surely I was bound for much darker realms.

I allowed one tear to flee my eyes and I hastily brushed away the evidence of it before Erik slipped inside, sitting across from me.


	10. Bleeding

A/N - The following chapter is a bit angsty, to say the least. Things will get worse before they get better.

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**Chapter 10**

**Bleeding**

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I do not know how long we travelled in the carriage that night. The landscape was dark and I could not see anything once we left the outskirts of Paris behind us. The rocking of the carriage eventually put me to sleep. My mind was numb with the events that had transpired and lapsing into sleep was easy. I do remember, just before I fell asleep, seeing Erik's strange, seemingly-glowing eyes fastened onto mine. They seemed to narrow ever so slightly, and the half mask obscured the true emotion on his features. His eyes conveyed so many emotions that I was too tired to sort through, but I could see pain and anger as the most prominent.

I awoke what seemed hours later. The carriage had come to a stop and I saw Erik exit quickly, shutting the door behind him. I glanced out the small window beside me, but could see very little than the black of night. Beside the carriage, I could make out a large building. My eyes traced the outline downward and I could see a doorway. A light was on in one of the windows nearest the door and I realized that we were in front of a large manor.

I could hear Erik's voice outside, but not his words. He was speaking to someone, I assumed. Moments later, the door opened again and a hand was extended inside. I accepted it reluctantly and moved out of my seat, feeling my stiffened muscles protest. Erik assisted me out of the carriage and I stood beside him, surveying my surroundings warily.

"Come," I heard him say, and he led me up the steps and towards the door.

The door opened under his touch and we moved silently into a large hall. I glanced around in awe at the vaulted ceilings. A rush of wind brushed my skirts and I nearly jumped when an older woman stopped at my side after rushing from some unknown room.

"Take the Madame to her room," Erik said firmly.

I wanted to say something, but the words had escaped me and the older woman pulled me along insistently, carrying an oil lamp in her left hand. I was taken up a set of stairs to the second level and led down a long hallway. A door was opened and the woman placed the lamp down while she lit the room's lamps. I surveyed my new room – a large bed against the far wall, flanked by tall, heavily draped windows, a dresser and vanity to the right with a doorway leading to a bathroom, I presumed. To the left, lay a desk and a large wardrobe. A fireplace was situated opposite the bed, to the left of the doorway. The woman was also attending to that as well, lighting a small fire to warm the room.

I stood there, unsure of what to do or say. The woman finally rose from her task and moved towards the door.

"Wait!" I called out, reaching for the woman's arm to stop her.

She merely shrugged me off and hurried out the door, shutting it behind her. I stood in the dimly lit room and did not move for several moments. Everything that happened during the course the evening seemed a nightmare. Would I awaken to find everything as it should be? Would Erik not be angry with me?

Erik.

I shook for a moment, realizing again that I still wore my wedding dress. I needed to be rid of it. Hastily, I peeled it from my body and hung it in the wardrobe. I found a warm nightgown in the dresser and gratefully slipped it over my chilled flesh.

Erik.

I stood there in my nightgown, shaking with fear. We were married now and it was the wedding night. _Dear God,_ I thought in desperation, _this is all happening too fast. I am not ready for this._ Would he come for me soon? I was not ready for what he would want. I knew a little of what to expect, but I was still a great deal naive. Would he force me if I pleaded for reprieve? I knew that I had broken his heart, but I did not deserve to be harmed in such a fashion.

The fire was comforting, and I stood before it, rubbing my cold arms. The firelight shone on my face, warming my features and created an illusion of peace.

There was a knock at the door and I immediately stiffened. I hastily grabbed a dressing gown and donned it, tying it tightly around my waist. The door began to open, and I moved quickly away, placing the bed between myself and it. Erik stood at the threshold, not yet bathed in the light of the room. I quaked with fear and crossed my arms before me. He studied me for a long moment. The eyes that I had found so alluring, so adoring and threatening at the same time, were fixed upon me. He took a step into the room and I immediately moved back a step. Erik noticed, for I saw a crease in his brow and the subtle tightening of his mouth.

"Do not worry, Madame," he said, the title strangely cold and distant. "I may be a monster, but I have never harmed a woman, nor will I."

Guilt flooded my mind. Erik was not a monster. My timid nature only accentuated the roughness of his.

"I do not expect you to 'fulfill your duties'," he said, almost bitterly. "I do expect you to be faithful. You owe me that much."

Before I could respond, he had left and shut the door behind him. I finally moved from my spot and slipped into the bed after extinguishing the lamps, and stared with moistened eyes at the dying embers in the fireplace.

***

Sometime during the evening, I awoke from a nightmare, calling for my angel with a loud and pleading voice. I realized where I was and a whimper fell from my lips. There would be no soothing voice to lull me to sleep. After several attempts to fall asleep, I finally pulled myself out of bed and slowly crept towards the door. I looked out and could see nothing but darkness, but I could hear the faint notes of music drifting down the hall. Barely there, I followed them cautiously, walking down the corridor.

I descended a set of stairs and found myself in the midst of the front hall. The music grew louder and I could tell that it was a piano that was creating the notes. The unmistakable sound of Erik's music filled my soul and I reveled in the sound for a moment, feeling it warm my body. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself drawn forward and closer to the source. I crept toward the side of the hall near a door that was closed, but under which a warm light emanated.

The music was angry and passionate. I had to compose myself before entering. Finally, after summoning the courage, I quietly opened the door and found Erik seated at a large piano, his back facing me. His muscles were tensed, his fingers lashing out at the keys. After ending the dark piece, he hung poised over the keys. I was careful not to draw a breath during this brief interim. I thought I heard a sigh as his shoulders slumped and the anger I had witnessed melted away. Then he began a song so full of sorrow that I nearly wept at the opening. The melody pulled forth every bittersweet memory I had buried in my heart – my father's last words, my loneliness in the opera house, the times when my angel was not with me. I could remember every dark, anguished moment with perfect clarity.

A sob rattled my voice and immediately the music stopped. Erik whirled around at the piano, his piercing gaze betraying a momentary weakness of sorrow, but quickly he replaced it with anger. I clutched at the door handle behind me with an unsteady hand.

"What are you doing here?" he seethed, his voice very quiet but nonetheless deadly.

"I heard the music," I replied, surprised at the tears clouding my words, "and I followed it here."

"You should be in bed," he said.

"I only wanted to listen," I said timidly. "It was very beautiful. . .and sad."

"I do not wish to hear of how you miss your boy," he said through gritted teeth.

I moved cautiously toward him and stopped when I saw his body tense. "I do not miss Raoul," I confessed. "I have always loved your music. You played with such sadness, I was reminded of many things, but most of all I was reminded of the times when my angel was gone."

"Christine," he warned.

"You said it," I responded quickly, "my name. You have not said it since we were. . .married."

"Why must you torment me like this?" he growled, moving abruptly towards me.

"I'm sorry, Erik!" I shouted.

"Sorry?" he hissed, nearing so close that I was pressed against the door, and I felt his fingers digging into my arms. "For what? For marrying me? Well, my dear, you did not exactly have a choice in the matter, did you? Did you!"

"Let me be!" I shouted, trying to shake him off, but he remained in place, gripping my arms tightly.

"Oh no, my dear. I will never let you be. You are mine until death do us part, isn't that right?"

"Stop it," I growled.

"You will not speak to me in such a way," Erik seethed, pressing me even further against the door. "I will not tolerate it."

"What will you do? Will you hurt me?" I challenged him. I could not allow him to break me, despite everything that I had done.

"Oh, don't tempt me, Christine," he smiled wickedly. There was a devilish gleam in his green eyes that chilled me to the bone. I felt him dig his fingers into my arms and I began to cry out in pain. The bruises on my arms were still fresh, and his anger furthered the pain.

"Just like the men in Persia?" I asked, biting back the pain. "Will you kill me like you killed them?"

He squeezed harder and I squealed sharply, before he released me and stepped away quickly. I slid to the floor in agony, clutching at my arms. The robe that had covered my bare arms had slipped down my frame during the struggle. I felt a cool breeze upon my skin and clutched at the fabric, trying to pull it back over my shoulders, but my arms burned. I looked up at him, as he gazed down upon me with a strange look in his eyes. I wept into the carpet, my shoulders shaking with each agonizing sob.

"I loved you," I cried, my voice muffled by the floor. "I loved you and you wouldn't trust me. You thought I was unfaithful. You thought that my love was weak. Oh God, I loved you."

I felt his fingers skimming my arm and I pulled it away sharply, wincing at the pain he had inflicted. I sat up, pulling away from him and watching him through wet eyes. Horror was in his eyes. He gazed down at my bruised arms, trying to reach out and touch me again, but I could not bear it anymore. I scurried away from him like a frightened animal.

"Don't touch me," I wept violently. "Don't ever touch me again."

He was looking at his hands, curled upwards and shaking uncontrollably. I did not know what he would do next. That is what frightened me most of all. I had seen another man in my angel's eyes. A man I did not recognize who existed in another place, far from the civilized world of Paris. My arms continued to throb and I cried out as I braced my hands against the floor and slowly lifted myself up. I staggered back and moved through the open door. I could not remember it opening, but now it stood open like a bird's cage, urging me out into freedom.

I took one last look at _him_ as he sunk down on his knees, before I fled to my room. I would never let him touch me. The mantra ran rampant through my mind. I would never be hurt by him again.


	11. Fallout

A/N - Sorry it took me a little longer to post. I hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

Chapter 11

Fallout

* * *

I stayed in my room for two days, never leaving it once. A maid left food on the small table in my room, but I did not touch it. I would not accept anything from _him_ ever again. Instead, I stayed in bed for the first day, not moving from its comforting embrace. My hair was a mess, a tangled mass of curls spread out upon my pillows, but I did not care. My arms throbbed and I examined them carefully. Dark bruises, obviously in the pattern of fingerprints, encircled my upper arms. I whimpered softly when I touched them.

What was I to do now? I glanced around the room, decorated in the finest of tastes and well suited for a wealthy young woman. I did not belong here. I could not imagine myself feeling comfortable in these luxuries, not when I felt as horrid as I did at the moment.

On the second day, I was trapped in a depression that I could not seem to rid myself of. I did not know what the rest of my life would be like, but I knew that there would be no joy, no happiness. I was married to a man that did not trust me. Everything I did angered him and I could not seem to find any forgiveness in his eyes. Would our marriage be like this forever? I shuddered at the thought and a sudden terror gripped my throat.

Forever.

"What will I do, papa?" I whispered from my bed as I gazed out the window. "What will I do?"

My mood was so low that day, that I admit I contemplated even the most forbidden escape from my situation. I had stood in the elegant bathroom, gazing into the mirror above the sink, and imagined myself dying by my own hands – drowning beneath the water in my bath, refusing my meals, and countless more scenarios.

I could never draw up the courage to end my life. So, I found myself sitting beside one of the tall windows in my room, gazing out listlessly. I spent the remainder of the day remembering a time when I was happy. I remembered my life with my father, and wrapped the fond memories around myself like a warm blanket. The world around me melted away and I forgot, for a brief time, about the bleak life ahead of me.

That night, I cried myself to sleep, and welcomed unconsciousness as it pulled me into its arms.

_I was wondering through the halls of the opera house, looking for someone or something. The corridors were dark and naturally, I was frightened. I finally found the door to my dressing room, but just as I was about to turn the knob, I felt a hand on my shoulder and screamed. It moved from my shoulder to cover my mouth as another turned me away from the door, moving me to face my assailant. I could not see anything in the darkness and I shivered. I tried to squirm out of the arms of my attacker, but I could not move. I felt a hand slide down my arm, along my body, and I let out a muffled cry. _

"_Erik," I cried out, "help me!"_

_Suddenly, my attacker leaned forward and a faint shaft of light grazed his features. I drew in a startled breath. Erik. _

"_What are you doing?" I cried out._

_A dark smile tugged at his lips as he moved to tear at my dress. I screamed and cried, trying to kick and beat my way from him, but he was much too strong. I was dropped to the floor and quickly joined by the man who had betrayed me. He hovered over me, lust shining in his beautiful eyes, and never hesitated at my frightened expression. I felt my skirts being brushed up my legs and over my hips. _

_I shrieked, crying fiercely, because I knew what would happen. An icy hand touched my skin. . ._

"Quiet, child, be still!" I heard a female voice call out.

My eyes snapped open and I looked around the dark room blindly, my chest heaving with each breath. A lamp was drawn towards me, illuminating the face of a servant, the same one who had been caring for me the last couple of days. A moan issued from my lips as I realized that the nightmare was merely that, a horrible dream and nothing more. My legs were twisted in the white sheets and I felt clammy, my nightgown sticking to my sweat-drenched skin.

"You're alright, my dear," she said soothingly. I wanted to believe that she truly cared for me, even though I hardly knew her.

"He was going to. . .he tried. . .he almost raped me," I cried, my voice falling to a shaky murmur.

"Shhh, my dear, " the older woman said softly, pressing a cool cloth to my skin. "It was a nightmare. It will pass."

I was shaking violently, nothing soothing my terror. The woman rose quickly, gathering her skirts and moved out of the open door. I could not see her, but I could hear her voice in hushed tones, conveying something urgently to another party. Another voice, I could barely hear it, responded and I thought it was _his_.

I heard her voice rising, as though whatever it was she was saying was not being considered. "I cannot calm her down. She is very frightened. Did you hear what. . ."

An almost inaudible response was given.

"Then perhaps you should speak with her," the woman replied. After another extended pause, she finally spoke. "Yes, Monsieur."

I sat up, pulling the blankets over my body and waited tensely as she walked in, closing the door behind her slowly, as though in deep thought.

"Come, let us find you a fresh nightgown," she said, smiling gently as she walked towards me. "Forgive me for not saying so before, but you may call me Annette. I am housekeeper, maidservant, and a multitude of other titles."

Her calm demeanor was beginning to put me at ease, yet my eyes strayed to the door, knowing it was _him_ who had stood in the hall. Instinctively, my fingers gripped the sheets tightly. I allowed myself to be led from bed to the large dresser where Annette found a new nightgown, helping me to change from the sweat-soaked gown I had been wearing.

***

If it wasn't for Annette, I would not have survived those few days following the argument. She lifted my spirits whenever I fell into a depression, and she consoled me when I could no longer hold my emotions in. She tended to my wounded arms, cursing softly under her breath as she examined them each day. We never spoke of exactly what happened, but I had a feeling she knew exactly what went on.

I never saw _him_ during that time. I could only guess he was somewhere in the house, avoiding me for whatever reason. I did not want to see him anyway. If any part of me longed for him, I would quickly remind myself of his harsh words and the pain he had inflicted upon me. I swiftly forgot about any guilt I had once felt. Nothing justified his actions toward me. _I can harden my heart just as easily_, I thought bitterly to myself.

Annette managed to coax me from the confines of my room on the third day. I felt very anxious as I passed through the large hall and towards a small sitting room. She could sense this and clasped my hand tightly and reassuringly. She brought me tea as I gazed out of the window at the snow covered landscape beyond. Never once did she bring up the topic that I was trying to avoid, and I was grateful for that.

One afternoon, nearly a week after I had last seen _him_, I was in the kitchen, helping Annette as she bustled around the stove. When I had asked to help, she vehemently turned down my offer, saying that a lady should not concern herself with such matters. I had argued with her, explaining how I was certainly no noblewoman. I had been used to hard work, and I needed something to divert my attention from my painful thoughts.

Finally, she acceded, and I began to wash the dishes as she was preparing a meal. I tied an apron over my simple day dress and pushed up my sleeves. I was happy to actually be doing something productive. I finished the stack of dishes and moved on to help her with the meal, learning how to prepare the roast chicken and pastries to follow dinner.

I moved back to the dishes, and began to put them away. I lifted the final dish in my hands and was about to cross over towards the cabinet, when the kitchen door opened, and I saw Erik framed in the doorway. He was just as startled to see me as I was to see him. His eyes widened for a brief moment before narrowing, one brow always hidden from me behind his mask. I noticed that his hair looked a bit disheveled, and his clothes were not as neat as I was used to. He wore dark breeches and his white shirt was partially tucked in. I looked down and could see that his feet were bare.

Erik moved to enter the kitchen and I froze. Perhaps he sensed my fear, for his movements quickly stopped and he stood there, looking at me with a strange intensity. I was too afraid to think clearly, but I suddenly felt very vulnerable, as though he were a predator readying himself to pounce.

"Madame was just helping me with the dishes," Annette broke the unbearable silence as casually as she could.

Erik looked at her for a long moment before turning his gaze towards me, and I felt myself gripped by an overpowering fear. I noticed him step towards me and that was when I panicked. The dish that I had been holding slipped from my hands and shattered upon the floor. I looked down at the pieces, shaking uncontrollably. They were scattered about my feet, and I was about to crouch down to pick them up when I saw his foot move forward again. I straightened up immediately, not knowing what to do or what to say. Would he be very angry with me? Did I want to remain there to find out?

"I-I," I stammered out of fear.

My eyes locked onto his and I once again was reminded of how powerful his gaze really was. There was a reason why I had followed him so easily through my dressing room mirror and down a darkened hall towards his home. His voice had been the charm, but the intensity of his gaze had been the catalyst.

Unable to string any words together, I rushed from the kitchen, skirting around his tall form as quickly as I could. When I reached the safety of my room, I collapsed on my bed, still trembling and in shock. I could not summon any tears. I could not cry - It seemed that I had dried up that well. I moved off the bed, sitting beside one of the windows and watched my hands as they shook.

A moment later, Annette appeared at my door and rushed to my side. She looked into my eyes and must have seen something troubling there, for she was quick to console me.

"It is alright, my dear," she said, squeezing my hands. "There are many more dishes."

She waited for me to say something and then added, "The master is not upset."

I finally glanced in her direction and shut my eyes, leaning into welcoming arms.

***

Three weeks passed in much the same manner. I continued to keep to myself and I saw very little of Erik. Annette would often complain of the trays of untouched food that she would retrieve from his study.

"The man will wear himself thin," she muttered under her breath.

Occasionally, I would see her returning from one of the rooms he hid himself in, carrying a broom and a dustpan containing shards of glass. I had seen his temper before and I did not want to imagine what could have gone on to produce such results. I made sure to avoid him at all costs. Often, when I desired to leave the confines of my room and seek out the library across the great hall, I would linger in the shadows, waiting to see if he was near. When I was sure he was not in the vicinity, I rushed across the hall and to my destination, closing the doors behind me.

One afternoon, late in the day, I sought out the library, eager to occupy my mind with a good book. After safely navigating the corridors and entering the library, I eased the doors closed behind me, stopping to lean my forehead against the door as I sighed softly. After a minute, I moved away and towards the bookshelves. I ran my fingers along the spines, hoping to find something that would snare my attention. I stopped at a familiar title and carefully removed the book from the shelf.

I must have stood there for a long time, because I lost myself completely in the pages of the book. I thought I heard a rustle and I glanced up, looking around the dimly lit library but finding nothing. The windows high above and beyond the shelves allowed a slant of light from the setting sun. I would have to take the book with me, and so I closed it softly, tracing the title with my finger. The tall, looming shelves were beginning to darken and the library was beginning to feel less comforting than it was in the daylight.

I dropped the book to my side and moved towards the end of the aisle. Before I could leave the confines of the shelves, a dark figure stepped in front of me, blotting out my path to the door. I gasped sharply, nearly dropping the book, but secured it tightly in my hands, moving it in front of my chest as though I were one of the knights in a fairytale.

The figure moved back a step, and suddenly the light glided across his features. Erik. My heart began to race and I knew that I needed to leave, but I was trapped.

"Please," I pleaded softly, "let me go. I-I was only looking for a book."

"Stop," he said quietly.

My nightmares began to flood my senses with fear - dark, all around and only him. I remembered the raw terror that had gripped me when he seized me and lowered me to the floor. They were only nightmares, I tried to remind myself calmly. Still, I could not quiet the fear.

"Let me pass," I said, my voice strangely abraded.

"My angel," I thought I heard him say.

"No," I cried out. "I am not yours."

"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked, his face obscured by shadow.

"I have to return to my room," I said sharply, fighting back the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm me.

He stood aside, finally, and I moved out of the claustrophobic shelves in only a few quick steps.

I turned, suddenly emboldened to respond to his question. "Why do you need my forgiveness? You have me now. Isn't that what you wanted?"

When he did not respond, I continued, allowing my bottled anger to bubble to the surface. "You do not trust me, so what good is my forgiveness? Do you feel any remorse for what you did? Are you finding it difficult to live with yourself? No, I will not ease your guilt. I have given you enough, and you have taken plenty for yourself."

I turned to leave and felt his burning gaze follow me to the door.


	12. The Gallery

A/N - Ladies, if you are single and searching for a hunky man craving, have I got the solution for you! *LOL* It's what inspired me for this chapter. If you can take language, nudity, and well, it's HBO, I highly recommend True Blood. I'm watching Season 1 right now, and well. . .you HAVE TO WATCH IT! Ahhh! I cannot stress this enough. The hotness known as vampire Bill Compton will please any angsty-hunky-man-lovin' POTO fan. That is all. *L*

Anyways, now that I managed to vent that off, I really hope you enjoy this next chapter. Things are beginning to look up for our troubled couple.

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Chapter 12

The Gallery

* * *

"The master is really in a mood today!" Annette announced as she entered the kitchen where I sat peeling potatoes.

I glanced up from my task and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The woman moved quickly across the kitchen and set down a tray of food on the counter. I bit my lip, repressing the urge to question her. Last evening, I left Erik to mull over my accusations when I stormed out, and now it felt like a bad dream. Today, I felt tired and listless, and yet I could not endure another day shut up in my room. I sought out my new friend for company and discovered a simple pleasure in assisting her in the kitchen. The sun shone warmly and cheerily through the windows, settling over the kitchen in a hazy afternoon glow.

"He asked about you," she added. I did not turn from my work but I could see her watching me from the corner of her eye.

"Hmm."

"I have seen men like this before," she added.

I did not reply, for I did not want to fuel the direction of her conversation.

She turned, sitting down across from me at the table, with her steady, even gaze capturing my attention. "When a man is as irritable as _he_ is, it's usually due to one thing," she said.

I looked up, sighing softly and laying down the knife. "Annette," I said gently, rubbing my temple with firm fingers.

"He feels guilty," she said softly, seeing the frustration in my eyes, "I can see it – the way he moves about, how he won't touch his food, the sketches. . ."

"Sketches?" I interrupted.

A brief smile flickered on her lips. "All over the walls of the study. I did not know the master had so much talent."

"He is _very_ talented," I murmured. "What has he drawn?"

"I believe they are likenesses of yourself, my dear," she replied, lifting a potato from the dish and joining me in my work.

***

I do not know what I was thinking or why I did it. I waited in the sitting room all afternoon and listened to every movement in the house. I wondered if Erik would ever leave his study, but I knew that eventually he would have to come out. The sun was beginning to set, and I watched from the windows as the sun turned the sky shades of orange and pink. I could not sit still as I thought of what Annette had told me. Would there be no end to this madness?

I heard her footsteps echo in the hall and knew that she had checked on _him_. Standing at the door, I watched as Annette crossed the hall, her skirts brushing the polished floor. My eyes shifted back to the door of Erik's study. The door lay open, and I could see a silhouette in the doorway, illuminated by the soft glow of the room. I watched quietly, careful to keep my breathing as silent as possible, as Erik left the study. The hall was darkening from the setting sun, and I could not make out too many details. After shutting the door, he walked slowly but methodically away from the room. Even now, after all this time, I found his tall, strong frame intimidating. I shrunk away from the crack of the door, afraid that he might see me spying on him.

I waited breathlessly for a few minutes until I was sure he was gone and slipped from the sitting room into the darkened hall. I navigated quietly across the polished floors until I came to the door of Erik's study. My hand froze on the door handle for a moment, unsure of what I was doing. I knew that I had to satisfy my curiosity, that I had to know, and so I opened the door slowly. The room was plunged into darkness and I quietly closed the door behind me before I continued my exploration.

I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness for a minute before moving forward and nearly tripping over a chair. I steadied myself against a desk before reaching out in an attempt to find a lamp. My hands traced over small tables, over papers scattered about, and finally I found a lamp. I lit the lamp and sighed as a soft warm glow filled the room. It was not a great deal of light, so I was forced to carry the lamp around the room.

What I saw shocked me.

Papers. Papers covering the large desk, papers scattered on the floor, and papers hanging from the walls. I shivered suddenly, feeling a strange fear entering my heart. I gazed about, overwhelmed with the assault on my senses, and struggled to focus on the details before me. I walked to his desk, glancing down at the papers that littered its rich surface. There were sketches of me everywhere. Sketches of my profile, some betraying a horrible sadness, others a soft smile gracing my features. There were some of me sitting and glancing out of the window in quiet meditation. Others featured me in quiet study of a book.

There were sketches of the opera house, depicting some of my performances, but those that caught my attention the most were sketches from Don Juan Triumphant. I was entangled in _his_ embrace, his face resting against the curls of my hair. Whenever he appeared in the sketches, it was always a darker figure, almost hidden in the shadows and not as centered as myself. His face remained unfinished in each depiction. I cannot convey the emotion that it invoked within me, of seeing how he sketched himself, of how he thought of himself.

I turned away from the sketches, too troubled to continue. I focused on those that hung on the walls. I was wearing an elaborate ball gown. In another, I wore a wedding dress, the same dress he had forced me to wear. Contrary to what one might expect of a bride, my eyes in the sketch were large and haunted. There was a deep sadness settled in them. Another drawing was of me sleeping. I drew in a startled breath, recognizing the room that I had occupied for weeks now. The drawing focused on my sleeping form, buried beneath the soft blankets of my bed. My face was closed in peaceful slumber, and the faint glow of moonlight illuminated my skin in a way that seemed unusually beautiful. Surely I did not look like this! He had embellished these drawings. I was not the woman he had portrayed.

One picture in particular caught my attention. I was crumpled on the floor, wearing nothing more than a thin nightgown and robe. The robe had slipped from my shoulders and I could see my bare arms lifted, my hands covering my face. It was obvious that I was weeping, for my shoulders were lifted and my head bowed. The simple nightgown that I wore was drawn so intricately, no detail forgotten. I marveled at the level of detail in the embroidery. The gown clung to my form softly, and I could almost feel the glow of light that illuminated part of my form.

The one detail that drew my attention the most was the darkened prints on my upper arms. I recognized the bruises easily. My hand reached out of its own accord and traced the injuries. My arms had healed, but I could still feel the pressure of his hands when I remembered. I found the edges of the drawing uneven, as though the paper had been crumpled or moisture had altered its form.

A sound behind me snatched me from my thoughts and I whirled around. Erik stood in the doorway and was watching me. I could not make out the expression on his face, but I instinctively drew further back, fearing that my intrusion would invoke a violent response from him. His shoulders seemed to drop slightly at my movement and I could see his arm lifting out towards me.

"I will leave," I murmured in a shaking voice. "I-I should not be here."

I moved around his desk but he moved to block my hasty escape and I stopped in my tracks, frozen in place. I shook like a deer cornered by a wolf, my eyes widened in fear.

"Please," he said softly, in earnest, "do not fear me."

Without thought, I lifted my arms across my chest as though to shield me. My hands gripped my arms softly and protectively, rubbing the skin where I could remember the pain he had caused me too clearly. His eyes drifted down towards my arms and a mixture of regret and sadness filled his eyes. He took a step closer, reaching out with hesitant hands which never touched my skin, but hovered over my arms as though trying to do something. I watched him closely, never removing my eyes from his hands.

"Are you still in pain?" I heard him ask weakly.

"N-no," I replied, shifting away from him.

My eyes wandered over him and I realized how little I had seen him over the past few weeks. He was not dressed so formally. He wore no suit jacket and instead wore a loose white dress shirt, partially opened at the neck, revealing a very masculine physique from which I had to avert my eyes for fear of being noticed. I almost seemed thinner than I remembered. His face, at the least the exposed half, was a bit leaner, yet chiseled to a perfection that caught my breath. I could see the strain of fatigue in his eyes, and the way his brow was wrought with worry.

Once again, I drew my attention to his hands. They were long and thin, and yet very masculine and strong. I had always loved his hands – the way they moved when they played the piano, the way they beckoned me, and the way they felt upon my skin when he was gentle.

"Please," he said gently, "don't cry, Christine. I cannot bear to see you cry."

Was I crying? I lifted my hand to my face and brushed away a stray tear that had slipped from my eye. I did not want to let him see my weakness. I glanced over at the sketches.

"You drew so many," I observed, "why?"

He moved across the room, brushing his fingers across several of the drawings, pausing at one where I looked at the viewer with a sadness I could understand. "It was the only way I could have you near," he said so quietly, I could barely hear.

His hands traced the contours of my face in the drawing with such reverence, that my heart suddenly ached more than I could bear.

"Please," I said embarrassed, shaking my head softly. "The woman you have drawn does not exist. She is not flesh and blood."

He turned away from the drawing to look at me, his piercing eyes holding me in place. There was an intensity in them that suddenly reminded me of a strange book I had once read, a novel written by a man name Bram Stoker. Surely, he had been describing Erik. Erik had that power in his eyes. He could command an army with one look. He made to move towards me but stopped when I tensed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice like rough silk.

I pointed at the drawings that lined the walls. Drawings of a demure young woman decorated the study– a woman so beautiful that one's heart nearly stopped at her gentle eyes. "Surely this is not me," I argued, "I look nothing like this. There is no beauty like this. . .she does not exist!"

His features twisted in confusion, and I noticed how his dark, thick hair was uncombed and hanging slightly into his eyes, and over the mask. Yet, the dark hair did not cover his brilliantly shaped eyes. They were narrowed at me, though not in anger or suspicion, but disbelief.

"I have drawn _you_. I have left no detail out of each one and I have drawn each one as accurately as possible. Do you not know how beautiful you are?" he asked, moving towards me so slowly, that I did not perceive the movement until he stood mere inches before me.

"Why did you do this?" I asked, emotion wringing my voice. "I am watching, I am reading, and I am. . .sleeping! How did you. . ."

He turned his head to the side, closing his eyes briefly in shame. "Forgive me, angel," he said, his rich voice wrapping itself around me, "I never meant you any harm. Forgive me for invading your privacy."

"You did not sketch me while I was. . ."

"No!" he said loudly, raising his eyes to meet mine.

I sighed, dropping my eyes from his and suddenly realizing how tired I really was. "I should leave," I said.

He raised his hand slowly, pausing before me with a pleading look on his handsome face. "May I touch you? Just once?"

I felt my heart race for a moment. Was it fear? Was it something else? I remembered what I had told him before. I had been so angry for what he had done to me – for forcing me to marry him and for hurting me. I had promised myself that I would not allow it, but over time, my anger had started to disappear. Too weary to argue, I could only manage a small nod of my head.

I shut my eyes, feeling my arms trembling at my sides, awaiting his touch. It did not come for a long moment, and all I heard was my own shaky breath. Finally, my eyes opened quickly, brimming with moisture and I gazed up at his face which now hovered so close to mine. My eyes followed his hand as it finally met my cheek and grazed the skin so softly. He traced my features as delicately as he had the picture. Fingers trailed across my chaw and my chin. They stroked along my temple, following the rise of my nose, and finally, a thumb parted my lips very softly.

My eyes shot up towards his and I could see how deep in thought he was as he grazed my features with his hands. I almost reached up and pushed back the strands of dark hair that hung over his narrowed eyes. I almost ran my hand along his strong jaw, beside his ear, past his carefully groomed sideburns. I almost laid my small hand against his chest. All of these things, I could not do. I drew in a shaky breath as he lifted his hand from my face.

"I am very tired," I murmured softly, looking up into his eyes as though to beg permission to leave.

"Forgive me," he whispered huskily.

I turned to leave, feeling a prickling along my neck as though my decision was not the right one. I had to leave. Looking back once more at him, I noticed that his hands had dropped back down nearly to his sides, but that we was looking upon them with such emotion.


	13. Straying Too Far

Chapter 13

Straying Too Far

* * *

Ever since the moment I found Erik's sketches, I found myself preoccupied with thoughts of him. I could not forget the way he touched the drawing of me. When he moved to touch me, I remember the quiver of fear in my body, but I began to feel something entirely different. I remembered the way his long, slender fingers brushed over my skin as though he were touching porcelain. I wanted to close my eyes and lean into his touch, but my mind was acutely aware of the facts - he had hurt me before. I remembered all too clearly the painful bruises on my arms and the fear he had invoked in me. Every time I thought of that night, my breath would quicken and I would have to stop myself from thinking of that moment.

The way he had touched me last night was so different. I was still surprised that I had allowed it after I had warned him never to touch me again. I never realized how much I had missed it. As his hands slid over my skin, parting my lips, I found myself entranced by him once again, only this time it was not his voice. I felt a stirring within me and I was afraid of the feelings he had churned up. I was not ready to forgive him yet, but I could not deny what he made me feel.

Since the encounter in his study, Erik began to appear more frequently. Sometimes, I would pass him at a distance in the hall, and I could feel his eyes burning into me. Other times, he would enter the kitchen when Annette and I were working. I would squirm slightly in my chair, still unused to being around him again. He would watch us work for a few minutes, waiting for something, but he would finally leave and I would feel my body relax in a sigh.

One evening, Annette had run a bath for me and I undressed quietly in my room. Tying a robe around my naked form, I moved into the bathroom, still marveling at the modernity of its design. I had never had a bath before where one did not have to bring in hot water by hand. I sat alongside the tub, running my hand in the water as I mused. The luxuries that surrounded me seemed fit for a princess. I wondered how long Erik had been working on this house. Undoubtedly, he had designed it. A princess I felt like, but I remembered the tower I was locked in. A frown marred my features and I rose from my seat to remove my robe and slip into the water. I suddenly remembered I had left my nightgown in my room.

I secured the robe again and rushed from the bathroom to retrieve it, but I was startled beyond belief when I nearly collided with Erik. My mouth dropped open ever so slightly, and I gazed at him with a startled expression. My hand instinctively clutched the thin robe at my décolletage, securing it from his sight. The door was open partway, and I traced his intrusion towards my desk. Perhaps he wanted to read my diary.

"What are you doing here?" I cried out.

"Forgive me, Christine," he almost stammered.

I could see his eyes, burning with a strange intensity as they travelled over my state of undress. My hand tightened at my throat, trying to cover my skin from his eyes.

"Were you trying to read my diary?" I accused him, my voice shaking.

"N-no," he replied, equally as startled, it would seem.

"Why did you come in my room?" I asked.

His narrowed eyes slid back to mine and I noticed his chest almost heaving with each breath. Those brilliant, terrifying eyes traced my body again and I moved back abruptly. He lifted a hand, moving slowly towards me, and I cried out, stumbling back from him.

"Please!" I cried. "Please don't." Memories of my nightmare began to flood back into my mind. I may be innocent of a man's intimate touch, but I knew enough to know what he desired.

He stopped, looking at me with an expression, as masked as it was, of what I could only describe as anguish.

"I did not mean to cause you harm," he said gently.

I was shaking like leaf in the corner I had backed myself into. He stood still, his eyes dropping to the floor as I watched his hands clench over and over. I took the moment to study him without him noticing. My eyes drifted over his bowed head, down his broad chest, clothed in a loose white shirt. I was afraid of him, but at the same time, I was strangely allured by him. I remembered the times when he would hold me tightly in his arms and kiss me. They seemed so long ago, that I almost forgot them. The memories brought a warm blush to my cheeks and I had to turn away from him.

"Why did you come here?" I asked softly.

I could hear him sigh behind me, and felt his burning gaze upon my back.

"I wanted to leave a gift for you," he replied, his beautiful voice low and rough.

"A gift?" I turned slowly, watching as he produced a rose from behind his back.

My eyes lit up for a moment as I hesitantly took the bloom from him, our fingers briefly touching. It felt as though a flash of energy coursed through his hand and into mine. I drew away, studying the blood red bloom and lifting it to my nose to smell it. The perfume was intoxicating and I found myself deeply inhaling the scent. I lifted my eyes to his and found him intently studying my reaction.

"Thank you," I finally said, rather timidly.

"You're welcome," he answered quietly. I thought I heard him follow it by 'angel,' but it was so quiet I could not tell.

"Christine?" he asked.

I lifted my eyes again from my gift and looked up at him. "Yes?" I answered.

"May I touch you once more?" he asked.

My breath hitched in my throat as I studied him - dark hair, tousled, with burning green eyes and a very masculine jaw. He must have seen an answer in my eyes for he drew closer, our breaths mingling, and I struggled to hold myself together. His hand lifted to my face again and brushed along the surface with such tenderness, I felt my eyes closing in pleasure. He felt so close that I could feel the heat emanating from his body. My eyes fell upon the loose shirt, unbuttoned at the top and revealing much more than a lady should see. His hand drifted to my neck and I shivered as he stroked the tender skin beneath my jaw.

"Stop," I said softly, breaking away from his touch.

Erik moved a few steps back. His chest heaved with exertion and I noticed a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Forgive me," he said, his voice unusually husky. "I did not mean to frighten you."

I watched as his hand slowly slid back down to his side. I swallowed, moving away from him and towards the bathroom.

"Annette ran me a bath," I stated.

He nodded, drawing away from me, "I will leave."

Before I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me, I heard him call out again. "Will you join me for breakfast tomorrow?"

I bit my lip, turning my head slightly in his direction. "Yes," I replied, rather reluctantly.

***

I wanted to go for a walk. Spring was beginning to warm the air, but I still needed a warm cloak. I went out in the morning, having pulled back my hair in a loose chignon and tying a bonnet over my head. I stood on the front step, gazing around me and surveying the land that I had not had the chance to explore. The countryside was lush and beginning to green with the coming spring. A narrow lane drifted off from the house and wound behind a hill, hidden from my eyes.

I had not even taken breakfast yet. The hour was still young and I found that I could not sleep well during the night. I felt nervous about something I could not define. When I rose, I knew that I could not face Erik. I had to leave. I needed fresh air and time alone to think. Would he be angry with me for not joining him?

I walked for a while, discovering that the lane wound far towards a main road. There was another path. I noticed that it branched from the lane and cut across the green fields. My curiosity got the best of me and I decided to take the path. I lifted my skirts as I walked around a puddle, and followed the small trail. I had been walking for what seemed like an hour or two. The path had not led anywhere yet, but I found myself in a place more remote. Tall, ghostly trees rose up around me. A fog had begun to settle in, blanketing the ground in an impenetrable haze. I bit my lip, thinking that I should turn around, but I had come this far.

I walked a little further before I sunk down on a large rock, prepared to wait for the fog to lift. There was no use in getting completely lost. The air was heavy and I found that my energy had been slowly sapped from my body. It was quiet out here, and I enjoyed the peace, even though the scenery was rather foreboding.

My mind wandered back to the estate. I wondered what Erik was doing at this moment, if he had gone into a rage at my absence. A part of me wanted to continue along the trail, following it forever wherever it took me. What would my life be like without _him_ in it? For many years, he had been my guardian and my teacher, and I had been comfortable with those roles. Now, he was my husband and I was afraid of the finality and implications of that title. Was I really ready to be married? I tugged at my cloak, wrapping it around myself as I felt a chill begin to settle into my skin.

I observed how my life seemed just as this landscape. I could not see much beyond my immediate place. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, and I felt as though I was suffocating underneath the restrictions that had been placed over me. Would I ever be able to leave the estate? Would I have friends? Would I ever be able to see Meg again? A sob broke the deathly silence and I realized it was my own. I wanted to be happy, but I could not see anything that would foster that feeling.

I closed my eyes and remembered happier times running through green fields such as these, only with bright sunshine and a glimpse of my father running after me. I remembered once feeling an overwhelming joy in my life that had been absent for so long. Would nothing bring it back?

I choked back my tears but I knew that there was no use in hiding them when no one was here to see. Right now, I wanted to sink back into the earth and never get up. I imagined the ivy winding around my limbs and hiding my body from sight.

A sound jarred me from my dark thoughts. The fog must have choked their approach, for I had not heard the horse and rider until they were nearly upon me. They emerged from the fog only a short distance from me. My heart seized in my breast for a moment, afraid that Erik might have come looking for me out of anger. I looked up at the rider and knew immediately it was not Erik. The man who sat upon the charcoal colored horse leaned forward in his saddle, lifting his hat.

"Mademoiselle," he addressed me, something unpleasant in his voice, "I did not expect to find someone this far out."

"I-I was just leaving," I said, hastily rising up from the rock and brushing off my skirts.

"Wait a moment," he said, extending the riding crop he carried in one hand to block my escape. Don't hurry away so quickly, my dear."

"Monsieur, I must return," I said as boldly and confidently as I could.

"You need not leave on my account," he replied, his voice becoming as sweet as honey, reminding me suddenly of the snake that tempted Eve.

I looked up at the man. He was dressed smartly, and looked to be a wealthy man, but there was something else about him that reeked of vulgarity. I did not like the way his eyes raked along my body. My mind screamed – _hurry! Danger! You must leave now!_ The man was blocking my path and I knew that I could not outrun him. He shifted in his saddle, leaning forward and extending the crop out so that it brushed across my cheek.

"My, you are a pretty thing, aren't you? You shouldn't be wandering out here all alone. Your master will be angry with you."

I glanced down at my attire, at the modest dress and cloak that I wore, and realized that the man thought me a runaway servant. I had not wanted any of Erik's extravagant gifts of clothing and perfumes. I would not be his mistress, even though he said we were married.

"Come along and grab my hand," he said. "You can ride with me."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I must decline," I answered, my voice beginning to betray alarm.

I began to walk away from him, but I heard him ride towards me. "I did not say you could leave."

Panic began to grip my heart. I had to leave. I had to run! I looked around fearfully for a way of escape but before I could make a move, the man had slipped down from his horse and began to walk towards me. He reached out and snatched my arm, yanking me towards him so forcefully, that I was crushed against his chest.

"If I cannot persuade you to leave with me, I suppose I will have to enjoy you here," he said.

"N-no!" I cried out, struggling in his grasp.

"Come along, dearest," he said coldly, dragging me towards the small stand of trees nearby, "I don't have a lot of time."

I shrieked, fighting him as much as I could, but the man was much stronger than I was. He clamped a clammy hand over my mouth and my cries for help were silenced.


	14. Help

A/N - I know many of you are really concerned about the status of Erik and Christine's relationship. Hopefully, this chapter will begin to mend that bond. Thank you for the reviews! They're always a big motivator for me to write.

* * *

Chapter 14

Help

* * *

I struggled in the man's arms as he dragged me off the path and towards a stand of trees. No one could hear me now and no one knew where I was. Panic seized my body. _Dear God, please, help me! _The shade of the trees began to swallow us. I kicked furiously, but it was no use, as the man easily dragged me into the trees. He swung me around and pushed me against the trunk of a very large tree. I squirmed in his grip, but he only pressed me harder into the tree.

"No word from you, my dear," he said, lifting his hand slightly from my mouth.

I moved quickly as soon as his hands loosened, but I was rewarded with a hard slap across the face that sent my body falling towards the ground. My hands broke the fall and I lay unmoving on the ground. My bonnet was tugged violently from my head and I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me up as I shrieked in pain. He pulled my head back until I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. The sensation sickened me and I struggled again. I could not let him do this.

He growled as I kicked and scratched at him, whipping me around to face him again. Before I could lift my arms to shield myself, I felt his fist connect with my cheek and I fell back against the ground again. The pain was intense and only worsened as my head struck something hard against the ground. I could feel blood trickling from my lip, and my face throbbed from his punch. I cried out, my voice carrying shrilly for a brief moment before he was hovering over me. My vision was beginning to darken and I felt an overwhelming feeling of nausea. Every sound, every action around me was dimmed as my world was beginning to close in around me.

I did feel his hands raking against my skin as he tugged my skirts up. I was trying to kick him away, my movements slow and uncoordinated, but he merely pressed his larger frame into mine. I felt a blade at my throat and shook with fear.

"Try any of that again and you won't live to see another day," the man hissed in my face.

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. I felt him continue to push away the layers of clothing that blocked his access to me.

"Please," I moaned in pain, "please don't."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy this as the whore you are," he chuckled darkly.

I moved again, pushing at him with my hands. The blade dug into the flesh of my leg and I screamed in agony.

Suddenly, the weight of his body was gone. I heard a shriek of terror, but as my vision was so clouded, I could not make out what was happening.

Another voice suddenly broke the strange silence. "You trespass upon my lands and attack this woman. I have every right to kill you," the voice sneered, ebbing with hate and disgust.

"Oh Monsieur, please, let me go and I will never return," my attacker begged, his gruff voice now reduced to a pathetic whine.

"Do you think me that stupid? You have no idea who you are meddling with, but you shall!" my savior responded.

I heard a shuffle or perhaps a rustle of clothing and suddenly the man screamed in terror.

"Look upon the face of the man who will kill you," the second man seethed.

"B-but, she's just a whore," the first pleaded.

I suddenly heard a fierce growl and then the sound of someone choking. The sounds continued for several seconds before suddenly falling away into silence. A heavy thud shook the ground slightly. I moved my head to the side to see what was happening. I could make out the face of my attacker facing my own, only a few feet away, his face unusually blue and swollen. His eyes were open, staring lifelessly in my direction, and his mouth hung open with a tongue protruding.

I screamed, my mind focusing on the horrifying image beside me. Terror was all I felt, and I could not stop the cries that issued from my singer's throat.

A shadow fell over me and I struggled to move. I managed to lift my arms enough to feebly fend off whatever attack was coming. I felt the figure drop beside me, grabbing at my hands as I tried to claw him away.

"L-Leave me alone!" I cried out, my words slurred with pain.

"Shh, mon ange," the familiar voice wrapped itself around my aching body and the tension in my muscles quickly fled.

I felt a hand tugging my skirts downward and out of instinct, I thrashed my legs.

"Christine," the voice pleaded softly, laced with overwhelming concern. "I will not hurt you. Please, trust me."

I felt my body being lifted up into a sitting position and a hand brushing back the strands of hair that were plastered to my face.

I heard the voice curse harshly under his breath.

"We must get you back quickly," he announced.

"Who are you?" I whimpered.

He bent closer to me and I could see the masked face of my savior come into focus.

"It is Erik," he said, anguish flooding his words.

I sobbed brokenly as I felt him lift me up into his arms. "Erik?" I cried softly.

"Yes, it is I," he replied, his voice nearly at my ear.

A wave of relief passed over me and I grasped at his coat with my bloodied fingers. "My angel," I cried out. "Angel."

A shudder passed through his strong frame and his grip tightened ever so slightly as he pressed me possessively against his chest.

"I'm sorry," I wailed. "I left. I'm sorry, angel. I only wanted. . ."

"Hush, my love," he interrupted.

He carried me towards the horse that waited for him just beyond the borders of the trees. I was lifted onto its back before Erik mounted swiftly behind me, pressing my battered body against his. My eyes were clouded with tears, but as I looked up at my angel's face, studying the mussed dark hair, the tragic green eyes that exuded such anger and anguish all at once, and firm mouth held shut with a clenched jaw, I realized that I had never seen such a welcome sight before.

***

I was lying in my bed, the blankets carefully arranged around me, and wearing a fresh nightgown. I moaned softly as consciousness slowly moved back the clouds that fogged my mind. My attempt at lifting my head was greeted with a throbbing pain that seemed to encompass my entire head.

"She's awake," the voice of Annette broke the silence.

The woman rushed to my side, her face twisted in concern. "Don't worry, Madame," she crooned, "you are safe. You are home."

My eyelids fluttered in response and I tilted my head to the side to scan the room.

"My head," I moaned, shocked at the rawness of my voice.

"There, there," she continued to soothe, "try to lay still. You are quite badly hurt. It is a miracle the master found you before. . ."

"Annette," a firm, masculine voice sounded beyond my field of vision, "will you assist me?"

"Certainly, Monsieur," the woman nodded fervently.

Erik appeared at the foot of my bed and I found I could not articulate a greeting. My eyes met his, and I could feel the strength and devotion in his gaze. He moved quickly around the bed to my side, carrying a small tray which he placed upon the table at my bedside. I tried to crane my neck to see what it was he brought, but his hand was quickly upon my shoulder in a gentle grip.

"Please, Christine," he said softly, "you must not move."

I looked up at him and nodded slowly. His hand drew away from me and I watched him as he busied himself over the tray. His jacket was removed, and his shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. There were blood stains across the front of his shirt and it took me a moment to realize that they were from me. The concentration I remembered so clearly was evident upon his brow – I had seen him this way when he was composing.

"Annette," he finally said, turning away from me, "will you uncover the wound for me?"

"Of course, Monsieur," she obeyed, leaning over me and carefully lifting the blankets from my body.

Once rid of the bedclothes, I felt her gently raise the hem of my nightgown along my right leg. I immediately seized up, crying out and clenching the sheets beneath me. My heart began to race out of fear.

"It is alright, my dear," she said softly.

I saw Erik turn from his work and look upon my quivering body with a look of anguish in his narrowed eyes.

"She is very frightened," Annette remarked gently, looking up at him.

I heard him mutter a string of curses beneath his breath and he quickly knelt by my side. My right leg was exposed halfway up my thigh, and I could feel a sting as the air hit a long cut that marred my skin, created by the knife of my attacker.

"I will need you to leave," Erik said, turning to face Annette.

She locked eyes with him for a moment, a look of uncertainty and suspicion confusing her rounded features. Something in his expression must have convinced her, for she turned and left without pause.

Erik's turned back, his gaze drifting across the wounded leg as intensely as a surgeon's. I felt his hand lightly upon my skin and I tensed, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the bed sheets with my fingers. My chest heaved with each breath I took. His gaze broke away from the exam and he looked up at my fearful eyes.

"I know you are frightened," he said softly, smoothing back the hair from my face, "but I must attend to your wounds."

He waited for a response that I could not give him. I turned my head to the side, tears falling from my eyes as I wept for so many reasons. I felt him resume is work, examining the gash carefully before he reached for a small bottle. I did not move as he lifted my head gently and urged me to drink the sedative. Only my eyes moved, looking into his as I conveyed the helplessness I felt in that moment.

"Sleep, my angel," he whispered softly in my ear, his lips nearly touching my lobe.

As he slowly lowered my head back onto the pillow, he paused a moment, looking down upon my lips. I trembled, my breath quickening as I realized the path of his gaze. Those beautiful, dangerous green eyes traced my face like a lover's caress. I felt the world around me begin to darken, but into a warm, pleasant embrace that I wanted to fall into. Every muscle in my body relaxed. The last moment of consciousness I recall was of my head meeting the pillow and the sound of ragged breathing above me, almost ready to break into sob. Something pressed against my cheek, soft as a rose, and I drifted to borders too remote to remember.


	15. Defeated

A/N - This is an E/C story, so have no fear. However. . .the road to reconciliation is rather bumpy. I wrote this on an inspired writing binge, so forgive any misspellings or grammatical errors. I'm sorry about the angst, but that's what I love. ;) I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 15

Defeated

* * *

"Angel!"

I woke swiftly, wincing at the dull pain that seemed to permeate my body.

"Angel!" I cried out again, my mind still clouded with dreams.

A door swung open loudly and I heard rushed steps approaching my bed. "Madam?"

I looked up into the concerned face of the housekeeper.

"Where is Erik?" I moaned.

She looked at me, almost dumbfounded, and began to turn her head towards the door. I reached out, clutching at her arm that lay near my side.

"Please, I want to speak to Erik!" I told her urgently.

Fragments of my nightmares were still raw in my mind. Terrible enough to endure the attack the first time, the subsequent nightmares proved to be even more disturbing. I was always left alone and frightened. I needed comfort and protection – something that my angel had once provided for me. I wanted to feel the safety of his embrace, just as I had with my father's. I wanted him to take away the fear.

"Leave," I heard his voice at the door, addressing Annette.

She did not hesitate one second and scurried out lest his anger be encouraged. I heard the door shut and remained still upon the bed, fighting back the nightmares in my mind. I heard no movement, no rustle of clothing or footstep, and I began to think that he had left me alone. Perhaps I had shunned his presence too much in the last several weeks. Perhaps I had damaged any hope of reconciliation. I lifted an arm and rested it over my eyes, weeping silently.

"Please, don't cry," I heard him say softly, startling me from my solitude. "It pains me to see you cry."

"Erik?"

The voice which cried out his name was much too small and weak to be my own.

"I am here, my angel," he said with carefully restrained emotion.

"Will you. . .will you sit by my side?" I called out to him.

"Of course," he replied, finally coming into view as he loomed over me.

I watched his face carefully. He still wore the white half mask. The mask had never been removed in my sight since that terrible night when he had married us. I had wounded a part of him, and now he would forever shield that weakness from me. His eyes were fixated upon my face, wavering with an emotion that threatened to brim over his carefully guarded heart. I thought perhaps he was sickened of my face – that he could not bear to look upon the woman who had broken his heart.

His hand moved towards my face and I waited for the touch, yearned for the contact that I had shunned for so long. As soon as his fingers descended lightly upon my skin, I cried out softly as I was met with a sharp pain. I moved my hand over his, trying to discover the source of the pain. I found a cheek swollen and bruised, undoubtedly from my attacker when he had punched me. Quickly, I moved my hand away, afraid to discover what other injuries I had been left with. I felt tears welling in my eyes at the memories of my attack.

"You left without telling me," he accused, though in a gentler tone.

I looked away, ashamed for what I had done, though at the same time feeling my actions justified.

"I needed time alone to think. I needed to leave this house," I murmured softly, afraid to meet his gaze.

"I trust you will not leave it again, unless accompanied?" he stated more than asked.

I turned to regard him, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. "So I am a prisoner in this house. Nothing has changed?"

He did not answer and I drew in an unsteady breath.

"Do you want me to be miserable?"

He turned away from me, ever so slightly, and looked out the window with a faraway gaze, still not answering me.

"Am I allowed friends? Or shall I board up the sitting room? Will you not even allow me to see Meg?" I clutched at his sleeve, gripping it in panic.

The world was beginning to close in around me. I could feel it. My breathing was becoming more labored, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I cannot remember ever feeling so much panic, save from my attack. The thought of never leaving this place was terrifying. I could not bear it! He had no right! He had no right to lock me away!

"Answer me, damn you!" I cried out.

He turned abruptly, perhaps startled by my language, his eyes wild and frightening. I sunk back into my pillow, suddenly afraid of his reaction.

"You leave once and you are nearly. . ." I watched as his hand curled into a fist upon my bed. "Do you think I could let you go, knowing what could happen?"

"I am not a bird you can lock away, Erik," I answered.

He rose in defiance and moved towards the door.

"Wait!" I cried out. He stopped in his tracks and waited for my response.

"Please," I cried, allowing the tears that had welled in my eyes to slip from their bonds. "Do not imprison me here. I could not bear it. Please, I beg you."

He turned again, and moved towards the door without response.

I cried out in fury, snatching an empty tray at my bedside and throwing it in his direction. "I hate you!" I screamed.

My anger began to overflow, and I forced myself from bed, wincing at the sharp pain in my leg. My steps were unsteady but I moved towards him anyway.

"Christine," he said sharply, "get back into bed."

"No! " I said, trying to ignore the pain.

I managed to stumble closer to him, uncaring of my state of undress. "You cannot order me around. I won't let you."

"You are my wife," he hissed, his shoulders tensing.

I laughed deliriously, "Married in a ceremony without a priest. I highly doubt anybody would recognize that union."

"Get back to bed," he growled.

I did not want to let him win. I felt a surge of elation at my defiance.

"No," I replied.

Suddenly, he lunged for me and imprisoned me in his grasp, though oddly careful not to injure me further.

"Let me go," I seethed, struggling in his arms.

I pushed at him with all my strength, which at the time was very inadequate. I beat at his chest with my small fists, crying out in frustration before I tried kicking his shins. This only served to anger him further. With a feral growl, he pushed me back up against a wall, trapping me with his body. He pinned my hands to the wall. I watched his chest rise and fall with exertion, his breaths coming quickly from his slack mouth. His eyes were narrowed and furious.

"I hate you," I whispered.

The eyes turned against me in anger suddenly began to kindle with a different fire. I gasped for a moment, afraid I had woken a sleeping beast. Without signal, he closed the distance between us, his mouth hungrily crashing upon mine. He attacked my mouth with bruising kisses, plundering my parted lips with his tongue. I pushed against him, but he only held me tighter, crushing my body to his as he ravaged my mouth. He growled lowly as he continued his assault. The hands that pressed my back into his strong frame began to wander. I felt one move lower, far lower than I expected, and cup my bottom, pressing me urgently against his hardened body. I cried out, but the noise was stifled with his kisses. I was still angry with him, but I was beginning to drown. I moaned softly and he only responded by forcing my mouth open wider and plunging his tongue inside. His hand squeezed me, forcing my body impossibly close to his, until I could feel something that I had only heard about from the other chorus girls.

I pushed at his chest again with my hands, but he pulled them away with his own, pinning me back against the wall again. His lips left mine and wandered along my jaw and towards my neck. I gasped when they reached a spot too sensitive for words. He heard my cry, for he continued his attack upon my skin, nipping at it lightly.

"Stop," I cried hoarsely.

He growled something and returned to my lips, claiming them as his own once again. I was beginning to grow drunk from his attack. My weakened state did not help, for I felt my knees begin to buckle, but he only pulled me closer. He wove a hand through my messed hair, gripping the long curls with his fingers. He began to tug at my hair, forcing my head back as he ravaged my mouth, but as his fingers grazed my scalp, I cried out in pain.

Immediately, he released me and stepped back in horror. I slowly sank to my knees, gripping my head with my hands. I had received a concussion from my fall earlier. The pain began to recede again, but I suddenly felt very tired and needed to return to the confines of my bed. I looked up at Erik. He stood away from me, breathing heavily, as he watched me with a mixture of surprise and guilt.

I stumbled back towards my bed, very ungracefully, and slipped under the blankets, curling up on my side away from him.

I could hear him still there, behind me, watching me and struggling with his thoughts.

"I must leave," he said to me, but I think more to himself.

"If you love me, you'd let me go," I cried out, still hiding from his gaze.

He paused briefly before hurrying towards the door. He would not answer me. My assumptions had been correct. I felt my mouth tremble and I began to sing.

_All I want is freedom,  
a world with no more night_

I don't know which hurt more – my freedom taken away or him not loving me. I wept bitterly into my pillow and soon accepted a dreamless sleep with open arms.


	16. Declaration

Chapter 16

Declaration

* * *

After a couple of days, I was well enough to leave my bed, and I was more than happy to have a change of scenery. With Annette's help I managed the stairs and found the small, brightly lit sitting room. She was plumping the cushion on a couch when she suddenly broke the silence.

"You do not look well, and I don't mean your bruises," she stated flatly.

I sunk down onto the couch when she was finished and rested my head against my hand.

"He will not let me leave anymore, Annette. What will I do?" I asked, gazing helplessly at her.

"Do you blame him?" she asked, surprising me with her response. I opened my mouth to respond, but thinking that trying to argue would be futile, I turned away slowly.

"I do not condone what he has told you," she explained gently, sitting down beside me, "but it is obvious that he loves you."

My shoulders shook slightly, but I forced back the emotion and turned back to her with glistening eyes. Her eyes narrowed as she studied my surprised expression.

"You do not believe this?" she asked.

Wordlessly, I conveyed that belief to her with my downcast eyes.

"My dear," she said softly, reaching for my hand. "It is very clear to me. Did you not see the drawings in his study? Did you not see his state after he handled you too roughly – locking himself away and turning away every meal? Please, do not repeat these words to anyone, but there were times when I pressed my ear to his door and thought I heard his pain. Oh, he would keep it carefully bottled up for any suspecting eye, but alone with no one to see, he would cry out bitterly. My God, you do not know how many brandy glasses the poor man broke!"

I sniffed, overwhelmed with what she was telling me. A sob broke from my mouth and I quickly turned away, ashamed of my tears.

Annette squeezed my hand reassuringly. "I cannot deny that his feelings for you are very strong. Do you still not believe this?"

"He's never told me," I cried out, choked with tears, "never told me that he loves me."

"Dearest," she crooned softly, gathering me into her arms. "Forgive my obvious question, but I must ask you directly. . .do you love him?"

I turned to her, looking sincerely into her pleasant eyes and sighed. "I did. . .once," I said quietly. "Now. . .I just don't know how I feel anymore. He hurt me very much, and I don't know if my heart will ever recover from that."

Annette studied me silence, watching as I gazed listlessly out of one of the many tall windows that lined the sitting room. My hands were clasped, but they were wrought with nervousness as I fidgeted. Was my heart truly broken? If so, could I ever pick up the pieces?

***

I decided, in the afternoon, that a walk in the gardens would be soothing to my nerves. I was near the manor and not gallivanting about the countryside. In fact, the small garden's only entrance was from the rear of the manor. I hid myself away for a couple of hours, hidden among the young plants, just waking from their winter slumber. A small bench lay in the center of the garden, and I found it a peaceful place to spend the afternoon, along with a book or two from the library. I was still not fully recovered from my injuries, though I wanted to think that the bruises on my face were beginning to lessen. My leg still throbbed at times – I had examined it myself and found a long cut along my right thigh. The cut had been carefully stitched, exhibiting the work of someone as skillful as a surgeon.

I was intently focused on my book, moved by a particular chapter, when the sun was blotted out. I glanced up and found Erik standing before me. I dropped my book in surprise, having not heard his approach at all. I bent to pick it up but I winced from my injury, finding the book out my reach for the moment. He stooped down before me, retrieving the book and slowly rose back up.

Erik extended his arm, offering me the book which I accepted with trembling hands. My hands closed over the volume and I pressed it protectively against my chest. At that moment, I found it very difficult to meet his eyes. I remembered his words from the day before and they still burned me.

"You left the house," he said finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I-I needed some fresh air," I answered quietly, "I didn't think you would mind if I went to the garden."

I watched through my lashes as he sat down beside me on the bench. My fingers curled around the edges of my book out of nervousness. I was beginning to feel that unpleasant sensation again – a combination of panic and claustrophobia.

"You are still angry with me," he said calmly.

I breathed a heavy sigh and answered, "Yes."

"I see," he replied evenly, staring down at his clasped hands.

"Erik, I-"

"Christine," he blurted at the same time. "I heard you speaking to Annette this morning in the drawing room."

I froze, feeling my hands wavering over the book which had fallen into the cradle of my lap. _He knew._ I was suddenly afraid of his response – so much so, that I was nearly ready to leave. How much did he know? How much had he heard?

"First my freedom, and now I have my privacy removed. What shall be next?" I asked shrilly.

"Don't," he said firmly, laying a hand over mine. "If I had not come to your aid. . ."

"I know, Erik. I know what would've happened!" I emphasized.

"If you had something in your possession, so precious, that you could not imagine its absence, would you not conceal it – keep it safe?" he asked.

"I am not an object," I countered. "I am a living, breathing person. You cannot simply lock me away from the world."

He lowered his head in silence and for several minutes, we waged a silent war with our thoughts.

"I do," he suddenly said, as though vocalizing a stray thought.

"What?" I asked.

He turned to me, grasping my small hands in his with such determination.

"I do. . .love you," he said softly, never once gazing away from me.

His piercing green eyes held mine captive. They seemed to burn with a strange intensity. I moved to turn away from him, but he caught my chin with his hand and forced me to look up at him.

"Christine," he said, my name a prayer on his lips, capable of making me fall completely under his spell. "I love you so deeply, more than you will ever know. I _have_ loved you, ever since you first sang for me. Why do you think I despised any man that tried to come near you? Why do you think I was jealous of that boy? I love you so much, and I could not lose you to _him,_" he said, almost bitterly. "You were mine – the moment you sang and the moment you shared in my loneliness."

"When I hurt you," he continued, turning away briefly, overcome with emotion, "I was lost. I was nothing. Without you, I went mad. How could I have hurt my angel?"

My lips quivered with emotion, and I watched as he brushed a gentle finger along my cheek, removing the tear.

"I did this too," he murmured softly. "It pains me to see you cry."

He released me slowly, and I bent my head to dab at the remaining tears.

"I know you still doubt me, but I will prove it, mon ange," he said fervently. "I will prove my love for you and you shall never doubt it."

I moved to stand up, uncaring that the book dropped from my lap, and felt my leg seize up with pain. I gasped, nearly collapsing, but Erik was quick to catch me. He lifted me effortlessly into his arms, cradling me close to his chest. I struggled in his arms, wary of his sudden attention.

"Please, let me go," I pleaded, "I want to go back inside. Let me down."

"No," he replied, a smile almost tugging at his lips. What could he have possibly found funny at that moment? "You are injured and you should not be over exerting yourself. I will have Annette see to that for the remainder of the week."

"Will you lock me in my room then? I have a horrible tendency to wander through the house," I responded sarcastically.

"Christine," he said tiredly, "I do not want to lock you away. You are not my prisoner. I only wish for you to love me."

I turned my head away, suddenly embarrassed by the boldness of his statement.

"I know I have done much to ruin what little affections we had. I only hope I can mend them, if not build upon them," he said gently.

"Please," I said, "I wish to go back inside."

He carried me silently back into the house and I tried, with difficulty, not to notice the strength of his arms or the breadth of his chest. I thought he would let me down as soon as we were inside, but he proceeded to carry me up the stairs and to my room. Effortlessly, he lowered me down gently onto my bed, carefully propping a pillow behind my back.

"I need to examine the wound. You might have worsened it," he said.

I began to tremble, though not from fear, and I hoped that he didn't see that. He had already seen enough of my leg before, but somehow, this moment was different and I was more apprehensive.

"Must you? I'm sure it is fine," I tried to argue.

His burning eyes met mine and I finally acquiesced. I tried to lie completely still, but when his hand touched my leg, as he slowly drew the hem of my dress along the length of my right leg, I tensed. He looked up at me, trying to reassure me with the gentleness in his eyes. I nodded slowly and he bent to examine the stitched cut that marred the side of my thigh. I felt his fingers upon the skin around it, and I shook with an unnamed emotion. He must have felt the response, for he finally dropped the fabric of my skirt, pulling it back down. At that moment, I could see that he would not meet my eyes, but obviously avoided them.

His hand seemed to linger on my ankle, while he bowed his head in thought. The touch was beginning to warm my skin and I felt a frightening degree of pleasure. Before I could respond, he lifted himself quickly from my bed and moved to the end, leaning heavily on the post as he raked a hand through his dark hair. He seemed very disturbed at the moment, and I thought perhaps he was disgusted with something about me.

"Christine," he said suddenly, pulling back from my bed and towards the door, "you will dine with me every evening from now on. I will not have you refuse."

I looked at him with a surprised look upon my face, watching as he slowly raised his eyes to meet mine. There was a fire burning in his eyes that startled me. It made me want to run far from him, and at the same time be consumed entirely. I drew in a shaky breath and nodded silently.

Before leaving my room entirely, he paused in the doorway and turned his head back ever so slightly.

"I love you," he murmured softly, "and you will hear it every night."

After the door was shut, it took a long time for my racing heart to calm. This turn of events should have pleased me, but somehow, it intensified my discomfort. I could not sleep soundly that night. I tossed and turned in my comfortable bed, my sleeplessness filled with thoughts of him and of what he had said. Mingled with disturbed sleep, were dreams so vivid and erotic, I was ashamed to put them to words.

He had confessed his love to me, and now, Erik intended to prove it. He would pursue me relentlessly. After all, he was the Phantom of the Opera, and no one crossed his path or raised an objection to him. He was like a hunter having caught the scent of his prey on the wind. The thought of his pursuit filled me with fear, but I felt strangely feverish at the same time. Would I be able to resist his slow seduction? Would I want to?


	17. Awakening

A/N - Thank you for the many reviews! I'm sorry for not having posted sooner, but my muse decided to take a little vacation. After giving in to a cry-fest during Steel Magnolias, I finally was able to finish this chapter. I think you'll be happy with the direction that is being taken.

* * *

Chapter 17

Awakening

* * *

I was not allowed to leave my room the next day. Though not surprised, I felt a strange melancholy as I spent the entire morning and afternoon gazing out of a window, seated in a small, plush armchair. A small stack of books had been left at my bedside and I welcomed the distraction. As I tried to read one of the novels, I found my mind wandering to the night before. I remembered the way I had felt when _he_ had touched me.

I dropped the novel on the table at my side and sighed heavily. Reading was impossible at the moment and I looked around restlessly for something else to occupy my time. Honestly, would it hurt to leave my room for a little fresh air? I was beginning to feel like a caged animal pacing behind its bars. I heaved myself out of the chair and walked with a little difficulty to my door, pressing my ear against it. The house was silent as usual and I grew frustrated. I turned around, pressing my back against the door and tapped my fingers impatiently against it.

What did he expect me to do? I was bored beyond belief and nothing could pique my interest.

I looked over at my desk and finally moved to sit down in the chair placed before it. My hand sought out the drawer I had used the most, and I retrieved my small journal from inside. I flipped through the pages, re-reading the previous entries, at times smiling at some of my comments, and frowning at others. I traced the next blank page with my fingers and for some reason, could not find anything to write. Sighing again, I replaced the journal in the drawer, suddenly noticing a leaf of paper below.

Pulling it out, I unfolded it and began to read a letter that I had not written. The script was all too familiar. I frowned again, remembering the instance when I had found Erik in my room and accused him of reading my journal. Perhaps my assumption was not so wrong after all.

_Dear Christine,_

_I know you must hate me now, more than ever, but I beg you to continue reading. I hope each day that you will forgive me for what I did to you, as inexcusable as it was. You had demonstrated devotion and offered your love, and I was too distrustful to accept these gifts. I never wanted to hurt you, to cast away your love, but I fear that I have done just that and that I will never be able to receive it again. You do not know how much that pains me. Your presence and your company have been my only anchor to this world for so many years. You do not know how close I came to utter despair before you first came to the opera house. Since then, I have wanted to be a better man. I have wanted your love. _

_My angel, I know that you do not want to read these words. You would rather leave this house and find a happy life far from these dark halls, and I do not blame you. I am too selfish a man to let you go. I fear my words come too late, but I love you. I want you to be happy. I cannot bear seeing your eyes full of sadness. Do you think that I want you to fall into the same despair that has mired me? I want to see your eyes shining and a smile upon your lips. I fear that I will never be the cause of these things. _

_I only ask that you give me a chance. _

_E_

I gently placed the letter back into the drawer and brushed a hand across my cheek, finding my eyes wet with tears.

***

Late in the day, Annette arrived at my door with a wary smile.

"Dinner will be ready shortly. I have come to help you dress," she explained, rummaging through my wardrobe.

I realized as I watched her that I had not really examined the array of gowns and day dresses that thoroughly. I sat back down upon the edge of my bed and watched as she pulled out several gowns, hemming and hawing as she did so. I noticed the rich silks and delicate lace trims and wondered why it was so necessary to dress so finely for one meal. She finally stopped on one particular gown and muttered something beneath her breath.

"How about this one, my dear?" she asked, raising a beautiful lilac silk, bustled gown that surely must have cost a fortune.

"It is very beautiful," I replied, almost breathlessly, "but it is much too fine."

"Ridiculous!" she argued, brushing the gown down, "it is a gown fit for a lady."

"I am not noblewoman," I countered, eyeing the rich silk.

"You are the wife of the master, and indeed a lady," she replied stubbornly.

I looked down for a moment, thinking on her words, and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach at the reminder. Annette did not allow me to brood too long. She busied herself with dressing me, and I bashfully stood by, not feeling comfortable with another doing so. In the opera house, it was not uncommon for the girls to tie each other's corsets, but to have one's attire changed completely by another was strange to me.

After I was arrayed in the gown, which fit me perfectly and accentuated my curves, I was directed to sit at my vanity as Annette worked on my hair. I had not tended to it all day, and I feared that the curls had become hopelessly tangled. The woman was a miracle worker, for she managed to smooth out my curls, pulling them back partially into a jeweled clip.

"Do you not want to put all of my hair up?" I asked.

She smiled strangely with a gleam in her eye. "I have been told that this is more desirable on an each such as this."

More desirable? I felt a blush rise up into my pale face, coloring it more than it had ever been lately. Had _he_ instructed her to do this?

Finally, after a delicate spray of a fine Parisian perfume and shoes to match, Annette led me carefully downstairs, allowing me to lean heavily on her arm as I descended the stairs. She led me slowly down another hall and to a set of double doors that opened into a richly furnished dining room. A fire was burning in the grand fireplace, and along with the array of candles, offered a welcoming and intimate glow to the room.

I looked around in awe at the rich, dark woods, the crystal chandelier above the long ornate table, and of course, the elaborate feast spread out before me. I circled the table slowly, examining the dishes with interest. My stomach was silently approving. I returned to one of the two place settings, one at the head of the table and the other to the right, and leaned slightly against the chair before me.

"Do you like it?" a rich, familiar voice sounded behind me.

I whirled around in surprise. His eyes were smoldering and strangely haunted. They moved over my form in such a way that caused my stomach to churn again. I watched him, bashfully, as his attention lingered on my gown, and then suddenly returned to my reddened face.

"Forgive me for startling you," Erik said.

He stood before me, resplendent in a dark suit, maroon waistcoat, and a black silk cravat at his throat. I felt my throat constrict and could not respond. I had not seen him in such finery since the opera house. . .since the night he first took me to his home. He was more handsome then I remembered, and I suddenly felt very self conscious, like a gawking girl pining over an unattainable man. He wore the white half mask, but it only served to intensify the formality of his clothing and the sensual allure of his countenance.

When I did not respond, and surely my eyes must have been wide, he moved towards me with hesitant steps.

"Allow me?" he asked, gesturing towards the chair that I clutched behind me.

I loosened my nervous grip and moved aside, allowing him to pull the chair out. As he passed by me, I detected a rich cologne wafting from him. It was not overpowering and as nauseating as I sometimes found certain men's colognes to be. Instead, it was subtle and very masculine, heightening the anxiety I was already feeling. It reminded me of exotic woods, of seductive spices, but more importantly, fit him perfectly.

He waited for me to sit and I chastised myself for my inattention, sitting down hastily as he carefully pushed the chair forward. I waited nervously as he rounded the table and found his seat at the end of the table. He seated himself with the inhuman grace I had never quite gotten used to. We sat in silence, him looking upon me with burning eyes and I wringing my hands nervously in my lap, beneath the table. The quiet was becoming unbearable, and I suddenly looked up at him, opening my mouth to speak, but was silenced as he began first.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said softly.

I felt the blush rise up into my features, mortified that he would notice my obvious display of embarrassment. My eyes drew up again, regarding him for a moment, before I responded.

"Thank you," I replied quietly, dropping my gaze again.

I ruminated on those words for a moment and realized that perhaps I should have paid him a compliment as well, but I had been too anxious to formulate a decent response. I berated myself inwardly for the blunder.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked.

"Better," I replied.

We ate in silence, and I savored every bite of the rich dishes before me, but I found that my appetite was short-lived. I could feel his eyes upon me every time I raised a glass to my lips, or when I took a bite of my food – it was very disconcerting. He did not seem to eat very much himself, but sought refuge in his glass of red wine. The meal was not over soon enough. Annette was clearing away the dishes, and I was about to rise and help her, not wanting the woman to overwork herself. Erik's hand shot out, gently encircling my wrist.

"Please, Christine. Annette can take care of the dishes," he said.

I glanced over at the older woman, who merely offered a kind smile, glancing between both of us. "That's right, madam," she added, "We wouldn't want to ruin your dress."

I settled back into my chair and fidgeted nervously, twisting my napkin between my hands. Erik looked at me, sensing my unease, and quickly rose from his chair and extended his hand.

"Would you care to join me in the music room?" he asked.

He had piqued my interest, for I had not known there was a music room within the house. I nodded fervently and accepted his hand as I rose from my chair. He led me carefully from the dining room, linking my arm through his. We walked down the hall, rounding another corner and found another set of doors leading into an expansive room. I looked around in awe – there was a grand piano in one corner, a violin perched nearby, sheets of music stacked on tables, some falling upon a chair. A warm fire burned in the fireplace, and I found the room quite comfortable.

Along one side of the room, large, draped windows lined the walls. I could see between the lengths of fabric that the nighttime sky was brimming with stars. I circled around slowly, admiring the room in silence. When I finally turned back to look for Erik, I found him seated at the piano, just about to play. He glanced up, looking directly at me with a piercing gaze.

"Would you sing again?" he asked. "It has been so long, and we have neglected your lessons far too long."

I nodded and moved towards the piano, stopping beside it. I looked over at Erik and watched as a soft smile touched his lips before he turned his attention to his music. He began a slow, dramatic piece we had tried before – it seemed ages since we last practiced together. I readied myself for my entrance into the piece, remembering to assume the proper position to produce the best possible notes. I began to sing, and I felt a little rusty at first, but I quickly remembered all that I had been taught. I closed my eyes, savoring the joy I felt whenever I sang, for I had long neglected this talent. The song grew in intensity, and I found myself falling perfectly into place.

I was surprised suddenly, my concentration disturbed, as I heard Erik's voice join my own. I had forgotten how well our voices fit together. I felt a sense of elation and could not suppress the shiver that ran along my spine as his voice wound itself around my own. My eyes opened and drifted slowly over to his. He was looking directly at me as he sang, and I could see the passion in his eyes at every note.

As the song came to a close, I felt disappointed and empty. The absence of his voice left a void that could not be filled. I stood still, breathing heavily from the exertion and lowered my gaze to the floor. I felt a familiar nervousness coil itself around my stomach. The sound of a stool scraping the floor alerted me to the fact that he was now rising up to approach me.

Before I could react, he stood before me, lifting my chin with his fingers and forcing me to look into his stormy green eyes. I was helpless to resist – I could not pull myself from the depths of his eyes and surely he knew that.

His fingers strayed along my jaw, and I closed my eyes in pleasure, afraid to let him see whatever my eyes betrayed.

"Christine," he said softly, his voice husky with emotion.

I opened my eyes, looking up at him again. I felt myself trembling as he studied my face, his eyes pausing on my parted lips. I felt a finger slide along my lower lip, and I tried to resist the pull of his gaze. I was afraid – Erik was very powerful, and I was afraid of losing myself in that moment. I was afraid of falling into an abyss I had perched above for so long. It is frightening plunging into the unknown, abandoning all reason and allowing passion to embrace you. I was still innocent in many ways, and naturally, I grew fearful of losing myself to him.

I looked into his eyes again and he finally broke away from me gently. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. He stood stoically before me, examining me with a loving eye.

"I know you are still uncertain," he said observantly. "I allow my feelings to flow too freely, and I don't wish to frighten you away."

I watched as he clasped my hand. "I love you, Christine," he said gently, raising my hand to his lips. "I will wait as long as it takes."

Little did he know that the wait would not be long. As I lay in my bed that night, I found my mind wandering back to his letter, of the words he had spoken to me, and of the feelings they had evoked in me. I was falling into the precipice, my grip on the edge having given away, and I began to feel the fear slowly melting away. The love that I thought gone was now beginning to return, like the thaw of spring.


	18. Lovers’ Quarrel

A/N - Once again, thank you all for the reviews! The road to happiness is a bumpy one, but my goal with this chapter is to prove that both are capable of foolish behavior. There is no one character in the wrong. It is not Christine being immature or Erik being completely innocent of all actions. Both have to learn trust. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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Chapter 18

Lovers' Quarrel

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It had been nearly a week since our first dinner together when Erik finally deemed me well enough to leave the confines of the house. I was more than happy to venture outside, but I knew I would not be alone in my freedom. He had insisted escorting me about the grounds.

"Would you like to ride?" he asked, when he noticed me glancing silently about the greening hills as I leaned against a low, stone wall.

I had not been riding for so long. Papa once took me on long rides in the countryside and I remember enjoying the outings. I looked over at Erik and nodded.

He left me at the wall, insisting that I not wander off, as I should stay within his sight. I assured him that I would not – my nightmares had returned to that horrible attack lately. I did not want to tell Erik, for he probably would have kept me inside indefinitely. He returned a little while later on horseback and I squinted in the bright, spring sun, a little confused at first. I had expected him to bring a horse of my own, but it was quite clear that he intended to have me ride with him.

He jumped down from his black horse, and lifted me effortlessly into the saddle, before he settled behind me. We were very close now, and I could feel his strong frame pressed against my back. When his arms rose up around me, grabbing the reins and guiding his horse along a worn path, I could feel our closeness even more. I was locked in his embrace, trapped by his arms, and secretly loving it.

We rode for a while in silence with only the sound of the wind rushing past us and the thud of the horse's hooves upon the ground, as Erik moved us into a gallop. It felt so liberating, so free, to feel the wind whip through my hair. I laughed out loud as we rushed through the meadows. The sound seemed so foreign to my ears, and I did not realize how much I had missed it.

The land was becoming strangely familiar – the converging path to the left was about to meet ours, and wound close to a small stand of trees. My hand suddenly closed over Erik's right wrist, tightening out of fear. We came to a stop on the meeting of the two paths, and I gazed ahead with widened eyes, my hand still gripping his wrist. He must have felt that tremble that moved through my limbs.

"Christine," he said, "are you alright?"

"It was here," I stammered, "he found me here."

"He will never hurt you again," Erik said, brushing aside my hair as he leaned his left cheek against mine.

"Please," I begged, "I want to leave. Can we leave?"

"Yes, my love," he said, turning the horse away from that dreaded place, and prompting it forward.

My hand now clutched at his forearm, but he never removed it, and I felt comfort in his nearness. As we rode away, I began to feel the bitter sting of tears in my eyes. _Not now_, I berated myself,_ I mustn't cry now!_ That horrible day was forefront in my mind again, and I had tried so hard to bury it away. Must I now be haunted by it during my waking thoughts as well?

His arm moved, and he wrapped it around my waist, pulling me back firmly into his embrace.

"Shh, my love," he whispered in my ear, "don't cry. It pains me to see you cry."

After we had returned to the estate, I returned to my room, determined to change out of my simple day gown and settle into a tub of hot water. The afternoon was drawing to a close, and I could see the sun beginning to slip beneath the horizon at my window. My mind was still numb with the memories of my attack. Even as I brushed out my hair following my bath, I could remember every sensation, every prick of fear. I watched, as I sat at my vanity gazing hauntingly into the mirror, as my knuckles whitened around the handle of my brush. I placed it down quickly, breathing sharply.

"Madam?" Annette's voice sounded at my door along with a soft knock.

I turned in my chair and watched as she entered the room.

"Dinner is nearly ready. Come, let us find a gown for you to wear," she said cheerily.

"I think I would rather stay in my room tonight. I don't feel very hungry," I admitted.

Annette stopped, as though stunned by my answer. "The master is waiting – he expects you to join him this evening."

"I know, Annette," I responded tiredly, "but I do not feel well. I think it would be best if I remained here."

It was true - I was not feeling exactly myself. On top of the fear that the afternoon had stirred up from my memories, I felt a headache beginning to manifest.

"What shall I tell him?" she asked, looking at me with a troubled expression.

"Tell him exactly what I have told you," I replied, rising from my vanity and moving toward a chair near the window.

I glanced out at the grounds, my mind far away, and was nearly beginning to fall asleep when Annette hastily knocked on my door again.

"Madame," she said firmly, "he will not have your refusal. I must dress you now and send you down to him."

"Will he not trust that I am unwell?" I muttered to myself. "I am not a child to be ordered about."

I sighed and rose from my chair, allowing Annette to scurry about and retrieve a few gowns from the wardrobe. I turned down several extravagant dresses. I was not in the mood for dressing so finely this evening. If I could, I would have gone downstairs in my nightgown and robe, but that would not do, especially in Erik's presence. I suddenly remember the night I found him in my room, myself in a state of undress, hastily trying to keep my robe from falling open. My cheeks warmed as I remembered that moment.

Soon, much to Annette's disapproval, I was fitted with a simple, warm gown with a modest neckline. I felt a chill that I could not rid myself of. As I glided down the stairs, I rubbed my temple as the headache began to worsen. I was nearly considering returning to my room when I found Erik standing before me at the base of the stairs. He was dressed impeccably, and I believe I saw a small frown as he examined my attire.

"Remember what I asked of you," he said firmly. "I will not allow you to deny me this one meal together."

I was too tired to argue and allowed him to lead me to the dining room where he guided me to my chair, before seating himself. Annette had placed a plated dinner before us and it was much too rich for my tastes at the moment. I longed for a warm cup of tea in the safety and comfort of my room.

"You have not eaten anything," he said, interrupting me from my thoughts.

I looked up at him with a vacant look in my eyes. "I do not feel hungry this evening."

"Please, Christine, do not test me. I know full well that you are angry with me," he said, his eyes narrowing.

I glanced at him, feeling anger rising within me. Pompous fool! He thought I was feigning illness out of spite. Did he truly think that every action I took was always connected to him? I was not ready to play obedient wife tonight.

"Annette told you earlier – I am unwell. I am not angry with you," I stated clearly.

"Christine! Must you test my patience? I am trying to be civil. Why must you play these games?" he accused me.

I rose sharply from my chair, hearing it scrape back across the floor. "You are a selfish man!"

I cringed for a moment as he flung his napkin down upon the table.

"You think that just because I say I am feeling unwell, that I'm really trying to vex you? Do you honestly think that everything is about you? I am not some pawn you can move about on your chessboard. When I say I am unwell, I am unwell."

I moved for the door but he rose. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you!" I shouted back.

He stopped me before I could reach the door, towering over me like some dark fiend.

"Are you angry because of where I took you today? Do you think I did that on purpose?" he asked, blocking my escape.

"I was not prepared to see that place again, but I am not angry with you," I said firmly, in a lower tone.

I was about to move around him when I paused for a moment. "You did not tell me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You did not tell me that you love me – you've said it every night," I reminded him faintly.

"I will not say it tonight," he said stubbornly.

I turned to face him again, a look of disgust upon my face. "Are you truly that selfish, Erik? You are angry because I will not stay and eat with you when I feel ill. How many times must I tell you?"

I winced sharply as my head began to pound and I raised my hand to my temple in pain.

"You _are_ ill," he said, a tone of belief entering his words.

"Why won't you listen to me? Why won't you believe me? "I cried out.

I saw him move to touch my head, where I was clutching it in pain, but I moved away from him and hurried from the room. I could not bear another moment of that pointless argument. As I moved up the stairs, I felt my resolve begin to crumble as I remembered the words he would not utter. That bothered me more than anything – even more than his selfish behavior.

Once I was safely in my room, I collapsed on my bed. The pain was worsening, as though a drum were beating within my head. I vaguely remember Annette coming to my room shortly after, helping to remove my gown and dressing me in a comfortable night gown. I believe she had even placed a cup of tea at my lips but I could barely sip it. The last thing I remember was finding myself in bed as she gently tucked me in and brushed my brow in affection.

What I did not hear, was the short argument that ensued beyond my room. Annette had found Erik at my door and scolded him boldly after closing the door.

"Look what you have done to her!" she accused him.

"Annette," he said with warning.

"Posh! I may be your housekeeper, but I do have every right to tell you what I must right now!"

"And what is that?" he hissed.

"You _are_ selfish! You wallow in self pity and expect Christine to do your every bidding. She has been trying lately, sir, but at one misstep, you get angry with her! She was ill this evening. I know for a fact that she is suffering from a headache, and I do believe she may be getting worse."

Erik stopped his rebuttal.

"Do you know what she said before she fell asleep?"

Erik was trying to avoid her stern gaze but relented.

"She cried out that you do not love her," Annette said, her sharp eyes fixed squarely on his. "If I might add, I have never seen her so troubled."

Late that night, I found my sleep jarred with horrible nightmares. I saw my attacker again, and I was pinned down underneath his weight. I was crying out until my lungs hurt, but no one came, not even Erik. I cried in anguish – my angel no longer cared.

When I awoke, limbs thrashing about, sheets wound around me, and my forehead glistening with sweat, I felt a cool cloth touch my brow and settle. I sighed at the relief it brought. In the haze between sleep and wakefulness, I felt Erik by my side, gently stroking my face.

"Shhh, my angel," he cooed, "it was a nightmare, and nothing more."

"He came for me again," I murmured in pain. "Every night he comes. I'm afraid, Erik," I said, gripping his arm, "I'm afraid!"

"He cannot harm you anymore. I am here."

I cried softly in response.

"I do love you, Christine," he whispered in my ear, his voice breaking. "I love you more than I can bear. Forgive me. I am a fool."

"Please," I whimpered softly as my headache began to thud again. "Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone."

It was a long moment before I felt a weight press down upon the bed beside me. My body was gently pulled against his and I felt him draw a hand across my brow again.

"I love you, Erik," I murmured softly before sleep claimed me.


	19. Return of the Angel

A/N - To all my reviewers. . .thank you! I don't know for sure when this story will end, but this chapter IS NOT the last.

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Chapter 19

Return of the Angel

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I awoke the next morning to find myself alone, though the sheets beside me were rumpled and still warm. My headache was gone, but I found myself still a little weak. I was not about to make any sudden movements that might aggravate my condition. I pulled myself slowly from bed and crept to the bathroom. As I washed my face, I glanced at myself in the mirror and frowned at the dark circles beneath my eyes.

I wondered where Erik was. He had come to me during the night when my nightmares were beginning to consume me. I remembered how it felt to be held in his arms – I had never felt more safe. Now, it felt as though a part of me was missing. Why had he left so early?

I came downstairs to find an empty, silent house. The door to Erik's study was open and I peeked in, noticing that he was not there. I wondered if he had shut himself away in his chambers. I had a general idea of where they lay, and I remember being told not to intrude. My feet moved me up another set of stairs and I wandered silently down the darkened corridor in search of him. Ahead, I could see a door which I guessed let into his chambers.

I brushed my hand across the wooden surface, hesitating for a moment. I vaguely remembered telling him last night that I loved him. Is that what drove him from my side? I pushed open the door, which stood nearly unclosed and found myself enshrouded in darkness. There were windows on the far side of the cavernous room, but they were heavily draped. I could not see a thing, and so I hurried towards the drapes and flung them aside. He was not here, and so I had free reign to explore.

The light pierced the room and illuminated surfaces that I had not seen. There was a large dresser nearest me, and what appeared to be a desk, though the entirety of its surface was covered with sheet music and blank parchment. The melted stem of a candle was contained in a brass holder off to the left side of his desk.

I bent over the sheets and examined the mess carefully. Unfinished songs were strewn about, but that was not what caught my eye. I moved aside the sheet music and found a familiar script on a piece of paper torn from a diary. My diary.

The audacity! I picked it up, recognizing the date and scanned the page. My eyes fell upon a particular passage and I felt something inside of me tremble for a moment.

_He frightens me so! I cannot bear the terrible fits of rage and the moments of anguish. What am I to do, trapped in this house with only my own, fragile peace to keep me sane? There is no laughter in my heart anymore – no smile that will tug at my lips. Can he not see that I am a shell of a woman now? There is nothing left in me. _

I blinked back tears as I read, remembering the darker days of my stay here. He had found this particular page more interesting than anything – enough that he tore it from my diary and hid it in his room. I continued on.

_I remember a time when my angel of music was everything. He was my light, my joy, my comfort, and my friend. Once, I even loved him. Dare I say it, but I loved him more than anything! Now my angel is gone. The sorrow in my heart is too much to bear. _

_I just want my angel back. _

I dropped the sheet on the desk and turned around in the glare of the late morning sun, drawing a hand over my eyes. I glanced over at the large bed which dominated his room. The bedding was dark and regal, fit for a king. The bed had been made, and there was no sign that he had slept in it recently.

I left his room, almost in a hurry, and searched for Annette frantically. I saw her in the kitchen.

"Annette! Where has Erik gone?" I asked.

The woman turned from her work. "He left for a walk this morning – probably about the grounds somewhere."

"I must find him," I declared, going off in search of my cloak.

When I stood by the door, adjusting the cloak about my neck, Annette hurried up to me, laying a gentle hand on my arm.

"You are not going out there alone, are you?" she asked in concern.

"I am," I replied evenly.

"But, the master said. . ."

"I must find him," I interrupted, fixing her with a determined expression.

She relented and I bolted out the door and down upon the drive at the foot of the steps. I could not imagine where he would have gone, but I knew I had to find him. I thought perhaps he might have gone to the stables, and I wound around the house to find the stable empty, save for the few horses inside. I lifted my skirts and ran down to the small pond I could see to the west of the stables. I leaned against a tree, sighing heavily, as I noticed that he was not there either.

Where had he gone? I was beginning to panic – a wave of fear was sweeping through my mind.

I wandered ceaselessly about the grounds, trying hard to stay close to the house, but soon my anxiousness overcame everything else, and I wandered towards the end of the property, finding another road that ran east. A small building lay ahead, and I wondered what it could be, still nestled on Erik's land. As I approached the ancient stone building, I realized that it was a small chapel. I had not prayed in one for so long, and I nearly ran to the door.

Inside, the chapel was very still. There were candles all around, appearing to have been used many times. I wandered toward the small alcove at the back of the chapel, kneeling down and beginning a quiet prayer. I talked to papa for a while, asking him what I should do, and countless other questions. I asked God to guide my heart.

I sat for a very long time. I prayed that Erik would return. There was no doubt that I could not live without him. He had stolen a part of me long ago, and I would forever be his. Try as I might, I would never be able to leave him or turn him away.

I brushed away the tears that had coursed down my face and listened to the silence of the chapel, meditating on this small sanctuary.

"Christine?" a rich, resonant voice sounded behind me.

I turned my head, still kneeling on the stone floor, and saw _him_ silhouetted in the doorway. I moaned softly and rose, rushing towards him as fast as my feet could carry me. I collapsed in his arms, weeping into the folds of his shirt.

"Where were you?" I cried out, "I could not find you."

I felt him pull me away slightly, raising my chin so that he could look at me. Those beautiful green, stormy eyes that I loved so much were looking down upon me with what I could only describe as adoration.

"You left the house? Alone?" he asked gently.

I nodded fervently.

"Has something happened?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"No," I replied.

I tightened my hold on him again, pressing my cheek to his chest, but he moved me away again, determined to find an answer.

"Why were you looking for me?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair from my face.

"I thought you had left me," I answered, choking back tears. "I thought I would never see you again."

"Isn't that what you wanted? To be free of me?" he asked.

"I can never be free of you," I replied. "I don't want to be."

"You would be my wife?" he asked in disbelief.

I pressed myself against his chest again, afraid that if I let him go, he would disappear forever. "Yes," I cried out.

We stood in silence for a long moment, reveling in the embrace each of us had been starved of for too long.

Finally, Erik pulled away, whirling around as he paced the small chapel with a finger to his lips in thought. I watched him anxiously, confused by his sudden change in behavior. Did he not think my declaration sincere? Did he think that I did not truly want to be his wife?

He turned to me finally, his eyes burning into mine.

"I will not continue under the assumption that we are married," he said. "The marriage I forced upon you was not binding. You deserve a proper wedding."

I nodded in agreement, silently watching him as he continued.

"We will marry soon. . .in one week," he declared, glancing at me again. I felt a strange feeling course through me as his eyes pierced me. "I am not a patient man, Christine. I must have you as my wife."

My cheeks reddened and I found myself suddenly embarrassed by his bold statement. He moved quickly, grasping my hands in both of his. "What do you say?" he asked. "Will you marry this poor wretched fool before you?"

"No," I replied, watching as his eyes narrowed and his hands tightened upon mine. "I will not marry a wretched fool. I will marry my angel of music – the man that I love."

I carefully watched him, the playfulness in my voice vanishing as his lips came crashing down upon my own. He pulled me tightly against his body as he kissed me, and I must admit, the chapel was no place for the thoughts that filled my mind.

As soon as it began, the kiss was over, and he was tugging at my hand, pulling me outside as though reading my thoughts. I thought he was going to lead me home, but instead he pushed me eagerly against the stone wall of the chapel and hungrily claimed my lips again. His hands moved along my arms, around my waist, even running along my thigh. I moaned softly into his kiss as his touch began to intoxicate me.

He pulled away from me, growling lowly as he turned his head away from me, and then pressed it beside my temple.

"You do not realize what beast you have awoken, my love," he said huskily into my ear.

I blushed again.

"Come, we must return. I will not dishonor you before we marry, but if we stay here any longer, I fear I may not be able to keep that promise."

He tugged me along across the fields until we were within sight of the large estate. I was breathless and my body was still weak from the previous night. I bent over in exertion, breathing heavily when we stopped.

"Forgive me, my angel," he said, sweeping me up into his arms, and carrying back to the house.

I pressed my cheek against his shoulder and felt a happiness I had not felt for a long time.

"Why are you crying, my love," he asked.

"I love you, Erik," I replied, looking up with the sun in my face.

"I love you more than you will ever know," he responded, craning his neck down to press a gentle kiss to my lips.


End file.
